


Prince of Gardens

by pastelwitchling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Malex, immortal au, rated T for MENTION of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: Set in eighteenth-century England, young Michael Harrington falls in love with a sorcerer named Alex who doesn't seem to age. Can Michael give up the wealth of his family name to be with an immortal?





	Prince of Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> It took a LONG road getting here, I'll tell you that much. This story has been sitting in my computer for quite a while, and I never knew what to do with it. Now, thanks to one very fantastical beta, Ess Cee, I am finally ready to share this tale with you.  
> This really was a labor of love, and this story means SO MUCH to me, so I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Links to Ess Cee's tumblr and ao3, as well as my tumblr, will be linked in the end notes, so if you have a chance, please check them out, it would mean so much!  
> Now to leave you to your reading ❤

Chapter One. 1748

Michael was sixteen when he first met _him_. He was seated in his family’s carriage, his head out the window as he watched the buildings, shops, and pubs of London race by. He thought of Wyatt, wondering if he had received his letter. He sincerely hoped he did, otherwise, this entire trip was going to be a waste.

“Michael, enough,” his mother said as he was yanked back inside. She was harshly patting down the wrinkles of his sleeve. “That is no way for a young man to behave.”

“I just wanted to see,” Michael murmured, slumping in his seat, moving his arm away from his mother before his skin bruised.

“Your mother’s right, boy,” his aunt said, an amused smile on her face. “My dear, what if people were to see you? Why, we’d be the talk of the town!”

Michael rolled his eyes at his aunt’s usual dramatics. Surely, he thought, the people of this town couldn’t be so bored with their lives that they’d strike up gossip about a young man sticking his head out a carriage. But of course, Michael did know better.

His family was of great fortune, and even greater status. The Harringtons were the talk of the town no matter what they did. But it worked both ways. His mother always spoke of the rumors speculating around them as if she was irritated by them, but Michael had the sneaking suspicion that she very much enjoyed the attention. She, in fact, was involved in the conversations herself, frequently gossiping to her sister and whomever would listen about other wealthy families. The less fortunate were never worth much of her time. 

Today, it seemed, the excitement was about the Lowther family and their daughter. Michael knew the Lowther family as they had been over to their estate several times. Their daughter Adelaide was nice enough, and Michael’s parents had always seemed so happy to have them over. Michael had thought they were friends of the family, and whenever he asked his mother if she liked them, she’d look at him strangely and say, “Of course, Michael,” as if it was obvious that she did.

And yet, she seemed to have no trouble talking about their latest scandal as if it was a hilarious outrage. Michael didn’t understand. Maybe the friendships of grownups would make more sense to him when he was older himself. For now, he was content with silently judging his family.

“I feel rather sorry for them,” his mother said, sounding not at all sorry. “To have their daughter run off with some stable boy.”

“How will they ever show their faces in public again?” his aunt said, her hand on her chest. “Why, I’d be positively mortified!”

His mother shook her head disapprovingly. “You know me, darling. I am not one to judge others for their actions, but it involves the reputation of your entire household! Honestly, did that girl give no thought to her family?”

“Selfish, if you ask me,” his aunt said, her chin raised.

“Perhaps she was seduced,” Michael’s father said from behind his newspaper. “I would not be surprised if the boy had turned out to be one of _them_.”

“You don’t mean,” the aunt gaped, “a Witchling?” She seemed to think about it a moment, her eyes wide, then she said, “Yes, I suppose he very well could’ve been.”

Michael’s mother gave his father a stern look. “You really mustn’t tell such ridiculous stories, Harold.”

“But are they ridiculous, my dear?” he raised a brow. “Do not forget, my father had lived once with one of those creatures, swore up and down that it had saved his life in his youth – a boating accident, in fact!”

Michael’s mother rolled her eyes, muttering something none too kindly about her husband’s father.

“What creatures?” Michael asked, his interest peaked. “What are you talking about, father?”

“Oh, _honestly_ , Michael—"

“Witchlings, my son,” his father said, setting down his newspaper. He was pleased to have someone interested in the story. “No more than a hundred years ago, there was said to be another young man with the name Michael, just as you – Michael Axtell. I am a bit hazy on the details of the story, but from what I do recall, he fell in love with a young woman who later revealed herself to be an elf. She disappeared one day, and so he, in his desperation, spent his lifetime researching her kind, only to realize that there were more than elves.”

“More?”

“Yes,” his father said eagerly. “Not just elves! He called the lot Witchlings, and his stories of them were passed through others that had encountered the kind as well. Even my father. These creatures are said to be scattered all over the earth, all gifted with abilities of magic.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Magic? You mean like witches? And wizards? They’re real?”

“Of course they’re not!” his mother snapped. She cast her husband a sharp look. “Filling his mind with such fairytales, have you nothing better to do?”

His father made a _hmph_ sound as he straightened his paper and said, “Just because _you_ choose not to believe in the other world, it doesn’t mean everyone else is forced to the same constricted faith. Let the boy believe in what he wants.”

“I will not have him wasting his time in your fantasy world. If the Greeks now know better than to believe in their gods of magic, why can’t you?”

The arguing continued with occasional snippets of Michael’s aunt, agreeing with his mother every now and then, but Michael had stopped listening. He didn’t want to convey his opinions out loud, so as not to give his mother any satisfaction, but he couldn’t help but think that the whole ordeal of Michael Axtell and Witchlings sounded more like a story to scare children into behaving, and he wasn’t having it. After all, if such creatures really did exist, wouldn’t he have seen one by now?

It was customary, Michael had discovered long ago, for families of their status to make appearances at social events, whether or not any of them actually cared to go. And every time, Michael was forced to attend these dramatic plays. He believed that if his parents were going to be miserable, then he would have to be as well.

Except this time, when they reached their high box in the stands, Michael realized that they were not alone, which was odd considering his parents liked to show off their extraordinary wealth, and what better way to do that than flaunting privileges no one else had?

However, it came as no surprise to Michael to see his mother smile widely at the sight of the other guests. She shook hands with a woman Michael thought looked remarkably like her. Her husband shook Harold’s hand with a hearty laugh and a cigar in his other hand. And then there was their daughter. She looked like a miniature version of her mother; the blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, the piercing blue eyes. She couldn’t have been any older than Michael was. As he looked her over, Michael thought he’d never seen anyone look so mature for their age.

“Eleanor Prissley,” she introduced herself to Michael’s parents with a polite curtsey. When her eyes landed on Michael, she smiled, and Michael stepped back. He flushed and regained his composure immediately, though it became significantly harder to look Eleanor in the eyes after that.

She seemed pleased with his reaction, her chin tilting upwards ever so slightly and her smile resembling more of a smirk. He wondered if he was the only one to notice that. He looked to his parents, but they were preoccupied with their greetings.

Eleanor curtseyed, and said, “Pleasure.”

Michael blinked, then cleared his throat and stretched a hand out to take Eleanor’s. She slid her fingers into his, and he awkwardly brought her hand to his lips, just as he had been taught in his lessons, and mumbled, “Hello.”

“You are Michael, I presume?” she said. “I have heard a great deal about you, but I must say, you are even more handsome than I had imagined you to be.”

Michael looked away, and eventually thanked her in a voice barely over a whisper. There was something odd about the way she spoke, of the way she smiled at him, as if it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Michael,” his mother said, having noticed his lack of initiative. She was smiling, but her gaze on him was hard. “Doesn’t Eleanor look beautiful this evening?”

Eleanor smiled and turned her face to the side, her hand on her cheek as if waiting for Michael to wholeheartedly agree with his mother.

In the end, all he had managed was a weak, “Yeah, sure,” and Eleanor’s smile turned smaller, her brows slightly knitted.

Michael’s mother glared at him, and he could see her jaw clench. He also noticed Eleanor’s parents glancing at him, as if evaluating him. He didn’t understand why it was so important for him to shower this girl with complements, especially seeing as how it was very unlikely that he would ever see her again. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t. They had barely been in each other’s presence for five minutes, and he was already uncomfortable.

If Eleanor noticed this, she did not comment. Instead, she smiled at Michael’s mother, and said in an amused voice, “It’s quite alright, Mrs. Harrington. I find Michael’s loss of words quite flattering.”

As Michael’s mother considered this response, his father clapped him suddenly on the shoulder. “Well, you know boys, eh?” he said with a laugh. “We see something beautiful, and we become speechless!”

“Hear hear!” Eleanor’s father laughed as well, raising his glass of champagne, and as Michael and Eleanor were led to their seats beside each other, their fathers went into a reminiscence their own youth while the mothers spoke of each other’s dresses and how extravagant and expensive their own were.

Eleanor would chime into the conversation every once in a while, her eyes directing back to Michael’s, making him want to move his seat further away. He thought about what his father said, about being speechless at the sight of beauty. He didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable around Eleanor, but somehow, that didn’t feel like the right reason.

His interactions with Eleanor for the night did not end. Not even close. More than once during the production, whenever the actors said a phrase in Latin or French, she would lean over and translate it for Michael, then proceed to go into a detailed explanation of the story behind the reference being made. Michael politely nodded, throwing in a fake chuckle a few times. He hoped they sounded forced enough that Eleanor would understand that he simply didn’t care, but either she was just really dim, or she was ignoring him because by the time they had come up to their third hour, she was leaning over more frequently, scoffing at the poor craftsmanship of the props being used in the play.

“As if any authentic French dresser would have such carvings!” she’d giggle, and Michael could only hum in response. He pulled his father’s old pocket watch out and checked the time. Another fifteen minutes before an intermission, and he would attempt to escape as planned. As his leg bounced eagerly at the prospect of getting to enjoy a night out in London without his family, Michael thought of his old acquaintance, Wyatt, and hoped, not for the for the first time since leaving home, that Wyatt would meet him where they had agreed.

At last, the curtains closed, signaling the end of the first act, but not before Eleanor leaned over for what felt like the millionth time, and explained to Michael – rather smugly – the difference between cream pearls and white pearls.

“Yeah, that’s great,” he said thoughtlessly as he stood and moved to stand in front of his mother. He excused himself to the bathroom and she waved him off. She glanced at Eleanor over her shoulder and gave her a smile, then warned Michael to hurry back quickly.

As soon as he was out, he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders, and walked out into the chilly night. He could see his breath fan out in white tufts before his face, and he smiled. He could breathe so much more freely out here. He pulled his pocket watch out once more and tucked it back inside, then made his way across the street and followed Wyatt’s directions from his letter which he had memorized.

He found the small tailor shop that Wyatt had mentioned, and from then on, he walked a straight line to the right of the entrance until he spotted a pub at the end of the street. It was small, the wooden sign outside that read _The Black Beetle_ was chipped, the painted letters looked faint and scratched, and even from several feet away, Michael caught the scent of smoke and strong alcohol. He smiled to himself and hurried the rest of the way to the front door.

As soon as he opened it, he was hit with the warmth of pipes that had been undoubtedly lit since the sun had set, there were men seated at the chairs and standing around each other’s tables, all conversing loudly – some laughing, some throwing out curses Michael was forbidden to use – female servers with three large jugs of beer in each hand, humoring any customer that tipped or complemented them enough, and there was the smell of stale eggs, sausages, and potatoes, which, Michael supposed, he would find just as delicious as everyone else seemed to if he was just as drunk.

Michael scanned the room, his heart hammering against his chest. If Wyatt didn’t come, and had played a cruel joke on him, he would have risked eternal punishment for nothing. He was just starting to wonder what excuse to give his mother for his exceptionally long bathroom visit when –

“Michael!” he heard and saw a boy, much taller than he was, waving over the heads of the other customers from where he sat at a small table in the corner. He was a scruffy young man, his hair and clothes always a mess, despite his family’s fortune, and he was a good few years older than Michael. He had a twinkle in his eye that suggested mischief, a wicked grin that assured no good, and a full jug of beer always in hand. Michael sat across from him. He was just as he had been the last time Michael had seen him, the previous year.

“You really showed up,” Wyatt cackled. He was obviously already very drunk. Michael wondered how long he’d been waiting here, drinking. “For a minute there, I didn’t think you’d have the nerve, mate.”

“And spend the rest of my first night in London listening to Bach and Eleanor Prissley talk about dresses?” Michael joked, raising a hand to gesture one of the servers over. “Do I look crazy to you?”

“No, you certainly do not,” Wyatt said. “A shame, really. Especially considering…”

“Considering what?”

Wyatt leaned forward in his seat, his smile widening. “Considering what I’ve found.”

Michael hesitated. Wyatt was the kind of fellow you would have a drink with, someone you wanted along if you were bored out of your mind, someone you caused havoc with one night and regretted it the next morning, but he was not someone Michael found completely sane most times. Sometimes, Wyatt frightened Michael just a bit.

Regardless, he smiled. “What do you mean?”

“What’ll it be, love?” the woman said with a slight giggle, her hands on her wide hips. She smiled at Michael, her makeup smudged, and her hair tousled. Michael suspected she was drunk as well.

“Just the tab,” Wyatt said before Michael could let a word out.

Once the woman was out of earshot, Wyatt took one last big gulp from his jug and stood, wiping his mouth and smiling wildly at Michael. “Come on. We’re not wasting time here.”

For a long moment, Michael was certain that Wyatt was aimlessly wandering the town, looking for what wasn’t there.

“Wyatt,” he tried once again, “come on, mate, let’s head back.”

“Don’t worry, Harrington,” Wyatt said, still laughing. “I’m trying to give you a gift here, where’s the gratitude?”

Michael felt unsettled. Wyatt in a pub was easy to control, Wyatt loose on the streets was another matter entirely. He hurried in his steps to catch up to his older friend.

“I’d really rather we just return,” he said. “Come on, the next round’s on me.”

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” Wyatt said. “There, see?”

To Michael’s immense relief, he saw that Wyatt had led them to his house. Michael remembered coming here once before last year, and back then, the worst that had happened was that he and Wyatt had tried to concoct their own, original alcoholic drinks and ended up passed out on the dining room floor. He could feel a smile return to his lips as he helped a staggering Wyatt into the house. This was good, Wyatt could be trusted to behave in closed quarters. Perhaps this night would not be such a waste after all.

Once they were inside, Wyatt rummaged around for a candle, and Michael offered to look for one instead. He lit one, and Wyatt winced at the sudden light.

“Where are you parents?” Michael asked. “Might we be expecting them soon?”

“Not really,” Wyatt said, taking the candle from Michael and leading him across the house. “They’ve gone to visit grandmother for the next few days. She’s quite ill, you see.”

Michael frowned. Wyatt did not seem particularly bothered by this.

“Sorry, mate,” Michael said anyway.

Wyatt shrugged a shoulder. “She’s old. Hurry along, will you? Trust me, you’ll want to see this.”

Michael followed Wyatt down to his family’s wine cellar. As he descended the stairs, he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of rattling chains. He froze, and Wyatt, having noticed, waved him along, laughing, “Yeah, I know. Come on.”

Michael hesitated, then did as he was told. At first, Michael thought Wyatt was trying to show him a special bottle of wine his family had acquired, perhaps something imported, but they kept walking past the shelves of bottles. 

As they reached the end of the cellar, the light of the candle illuminating anything close by, a man suddenly came into view. Michael’s eyes widened.

The man wore a brown vest and pants with a white loose shirt underneath, torn and covered in dirt, his dark hair was a mess, as if it had been pulled roughly, he had cuts and bruises all along his face and arms, his dark eyes moved defiantly from Wyatt and Michael, his chin raised, but Michael could see him subtly move further back against the wall to which – he now noticed with horror – he was chained to by his wrists.

“What… what is this?” Michael stammered, unable to take his eyes off the man. “What have you done?”

Wyatt chuckled, and clasped Michael’s shoulder. “I, my friend, have captured a sorcerer. A real Witchling.”

Michael stared. “What? Wyatt, you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, so?” Wyatt laughed and kneeled down beside the man. He played with a strand of his hair, and the man tried to pull back from his touch, but the chains prevented him from moving too much. “I found him picking flowers in the forest two days ago, using his magic on the plants.” He tilted his head at the man, looking him up and down. “Bet you thought no one was watching, eh?”

“Two days?” Michael frowned at Wyatt touching him. He seemed very uncomfortable by it. “You’ve… you’ve had him trapped in here for two days? You’re joking.”

“Nah,” he laughed. “Trick is to bind their wrists. They can’t do magic if they can’t use their hands. My dad taught me that years ago!”

When he was responded with silence, Wyatt looked up at Michael’s face for the first time since coming down, his brow raised. “What’s wrong with you? It’s not as if he’s human. He’s a _thing_ , Michael. And because I’m such a good mentor, I’ve giving him to you. For a night, of course.”

Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled Wyatt up to his feet, mostly to keep him away from the man. This all felt so wrong. “What do you mean, a night?”

Wyatt stared at the man, licking his lips, then he leaned in and said in a voice none too quiet, “He’s gonna make you a man, mate. Get you up and going.”

The chains rattled again as the stranger moved further back into the wall. He looked furiously from Michael to Wyatt, then he shook against his chains and said, “I only pity your soul, vile mortal. How you’ve abused it so.”

“Yeah?” Wyatt pulled his head back by his hair. “Least I’ve _got_ one.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Go on, mate,” he hit Michael’s back. “He’s all yours. Make him scream for me, will you?”

The man’s wary eyes were on Michael. Realization dawned, and he stepped back from Wyatt.

“You want me to _rape_ him?”

“It’s not rape if it’s a Witchling,” Wyatt rolled his eyes. “These creatures don’t have feelings, you know.” He scoffed. “Everyone knows that.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Michael said, raising his voice, then he put a hand on Wyatt’s arm. “Come on, mate, this is insane! It’s inhuman – you’re better than this!”

Wyatt’s eyes darkened, and he roughly shoved Michael’s hand off. “What’s got you so bothered? I’ve been saving him ‘specially for you; are you taking him or not?”

Michael shook his head. He knew Wyatt was a little crazy sometimes, and even more so when he was drunk, but this was the craziest he’d ever seen him. He glanced at the stranger, saw him watching them with furrowed brows. His wrists were dark purple and scratched from where the chains held him.

Michael knew he should’ve felt something more of fear. After all, he was in the presence of an otherworldly creature, a _Witchling_. But as the man’s eyes landed on his, he felt another emotion entirely. This was so _very_ wrong. His fists clenched.

“You’re mad,” he said disapprovingly at Wyatt before grabbing the chain binding the man to the wall. He yanked on the chain once before he was roughly pulled back onto the hard, concrete ground.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Wyatt yelled. “He’s a _sorcerer_. D’you have any idea what he can do to us if his hands are free?”

Michael stood and glared at Wyatt, his jaw clenched. “Then maybe you should get on your knees and apologize. You can do it _after_ I get him out of these chains.”

Wyatt gripped the front of his coat tightly. “Or _maybe_ you should just go back to your big Harrington estate, _coward_. Right where you belong.” He shoved Michael back and scoffed. Michael didn’t think he was sobering up. If anything, he looked more and more intoxicated with every second.

Wyatt glared down at Michael and scoffed. For a brief moment, he reminded Michael of one of the Prissley members. “Run back to mummy and daddy, little boy. I’m not a caretaker to look after a child.”

Michael dusted off his coat, straightening it. He glanced at the stranger. “Call me whatever you want, but I’m not leaving without him.”

“That’s it,” Wyatt said, shoving him back once more. “Get out. Get out now!”

Michael shook his head at him. “I don’t know what’s happened to you to make you like this, but if you can’t stop yourself from doing anything you’ll later regret, then I’ll stop you myself.”

Michael jammed his shoulder into Wyatt’s chest, pushing as hard as he can. Normally, Wyatt would’ve been strong enough to avoid the hit. Now, however, in his drunken state, he flew backwards into one of the wine shelves and fell to the ground along with several of the bottles.

Michael took his chance and grabbed a long piece of broken glass. 

“S’cuse me,” he muttered, unable to help but feel embarrassed as he held the man’s wrist with one hand, his skin like ice, his other trying to fit the glass into the keyhole, twisting and turning it.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, frowning, his muscles tightening under Michael’s grip. He was breathing very quickly. “Stop, it won’t work anyway!”

“It’ll work,” he said, surprised he could say anything at all. “Hang on.”

Just as Michael heard a click in the lock, the man screamed, “Look out!”

He barely had time to look over his shoulder before Wyatt jumped on his back, sending them both tumbling across the floor.

He and Wyatt wrestled, Wyatt’s yells becoming more and more incoherent as he scratched and bit and punched.

“Wyatt, stop! STOP!” Michael tried, but Wyatt’s animal-like screams were above his own. He managed to pull Wyatt’s hands away for a minute before Wyatt overpowered him, and his hands were on Michael’s throat.

“Stop it!” he heard the man yell. “You’re going to kill him, STOP IT!”

But Wyatt did not stop. His grip on Michael’s neck only turned tighter. Michael choked and gasped, trying aimlessly to push Wyatt off.

Michael’s vision began to blur, and he was sure he was going to die. Then there was the sound of rattling chains, a scream, and the weight on his neck was gone. Michael gasped hungrily for breath, struggling to lift his head.

“Boy,” he heard a faint voice call to him. “Can… can you hear me? Are you alright?”

Michael blinked, and forced himself up. The voice was coming from the sorcerer. He was lying on the ground, his free hand outstretched towards Michael, apparently struggling to move himself.

“Y-Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. He looked around and found Wyatt lying against the wall behind him. He felt his heart jump and he leapt away, staring at the drunk. “What happened to him?”

“Is he alive?” the man asked. He didn’t sound particularly excited at the prospect. He didn’t seem _anything_ but tired.

Michael hesitated, then leaned down. A second later, he pulled back, eager to get as far away from the drunk bastard that almost killed him as he could get. “Yeah, he’s breathing.”

The man didn’t respond, and Michael took the chance to get a good look at him. His eyes were fluttering, as if he was having hard time staying awake. His breaths were now coming out long and slow, and despite Michael’s eyes on him, he didn’t move an inch. Michael doubted he _could_.

“Are you alright?” he asked, then mentally scolded himself. Of course he wasn’t alright. “What’s happened?”

The man looked up at him lazily, and he seemed to hesitate before he said, “My magic… it’s exhaustive. I need a moment.”

Michael looked over his shoulder at the knocked-out Wyatt and frowned. “Sorry, but I don’t think we have a moment,” he said as he grabbed another shard of glass off the floor and moved to unlock the stranger’s second chain.

He weakly objected, but Michael kept pressing the shard until the lock clicked open. He stepped back as soon as the stranger’s free hand fell to the floor. The shard dropped from his hand, his skin cut, and he swallowed. He was now in the presence of a sorcerer, free to use his magic as he pleased. Could Wyatt have been right? Could he really decide to kill him? But it wasn’t as if he could’ve left him locked in here. He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? And the sorcerer had saved him. He wouldn’t hurt him now, _of course he wouldn’t_.

But the longer Michael looked at him, the more he realized this man was incapable of doing _anything_ , let alone hurting him.

“We have to get out of here,” he tried. “Can you stand?”

The man did not answer. He slowly pushed himself up to his feet, his shallow breathing an indication of his struggle, and as soon as he was up, he nearly fell down again. And he would’ve, had Michael not caught him immediately.

He couldn’t have been older than twenty-eight, maybe even twenty-five, and yet he was no taller than Michael. He was freezing against Michael, his entire body trembling, his head on Michael’s shoulder. He felt weighed down. He wondered just how much energy it took a sorcerer to use his magic. He noticed Wyatt stir ever so slightly, and swallowed down his embarrassment before bending down to pick the stranger up. He seemed surprised, but too exhausted to argue as Michael carried him out of the house.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, and his fingers tightened in Michael’s shirt for a split second before he began to squirm in his hold.

“Alright, hang on,” he said, setting him down gently on the side of the road where the grass grew. He looked around at the dark street, uncomfortable. He wished he could’ve set him somewhere else, somewhere where other drunk men weren’t prone to spotting him. He doubted they would’ve cared whether or not he was a sorcerer. Even by men’s standards, the stranger was _gorgeous_. His soft skin, rosy cheeks and lips, and his long lashes – they all made him infinitely more beautiful than any woman Michael had ever seen. He blinked, realizing where his train of thought was going, and shook himself out of it.

He was just about to suggest they move somewhere else, but the man was already stumbling away. Michael silently followed behind, unable to do anything else. The man moved past the roads and the houses towards what looked like an abandoned park.

He tripped and fell, and right away, Michael was crouching at his side, offering him his hand. The man glanced at it, then looked away. He tried to stand again, but failed.

“Please,” Michael said. “At least lean against me. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

The stranger stared at him, then his brows furrowed. He was confused. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Do I not frighten you?”

Michael thought about it, then he answered honestly, “I don’t think so.”

The stranger was surprised, as if Michael was a creature he’d never seen before. Or, at least, one he’d believed had gone extinct.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, then blushed at the stranger’s curious eyes. “Of course you do, I knew that, I know you do, what I meant was… what is it?”

“You want to know my name?” he said, his eyes widening, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. Michael felt inexplicably pleased to be responsible for such a reaction. “Really?”

Michael cleared his throat and looked away, unable to hold the man’s stare. “Sure, why not? I’m Michael, by the way. Michael Harrington.” He kicked a pebble. “Thought it was only fair, you knowing my name as well.”

“Alex,” he said, taking his hand. He was smiling softly, a sight Michael found he did not mind. “My name is Alex. Um, Michael… if you don’t mind,” his hand tightened in his, and Michael realized he was trying to stand again, “I think I’d like to accept your offer for a hand up, if it still stands, that is.”

Michael helped Alex to his feet, and he walked with half of his weight pressed against him.

“Careful,” he’d say every so often as Alex nearly tripped. “There you go.”

“I thank you for this,” he said. “You did not need to help me.”

Michael frowned. “Of course, I did. I couldn’t very well just abandon you, could I?”

Alex glanced at him, a small smile at his lips. “I am sorry to not have made your acquaintance in different circumstances, Michael.”

Michael nodded. “So am I, Alex.”

“Here,” he said, stopping in front of a large hollow tree. He released his arm from around Michael’s shoulders, but Michael kept his arms up, ready to catch her. “This is the place.”

Michael looked around. “The place for what?”

He raised a brow at him. “You have never known another of my kind, have you?”

Michael blushed. He felt like a child. “Why assume so?”

Alex smiled like the answer was obvious. He brought his thumb to his teeth, and bit hard into his skin. He winced, drawing blood. 

“Why would you—” Michael tried, but Alex suddenly put his hand on the tree, and said, “Watch.”

Alex closed his eyes, appearing to be in deep focus. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Alex’s hand emitted a small ball of white and golden light, and soon, the entire tree was shimmering. Michael only now noticed how quiet their surroundings had become, the only sound being the strengthening wind on the tree branches.

“A-Alex?”

But Alex did not respond. Soon, there was what looked to be a crack of light in the tree, and it kept opening and spreading until it was large enough to fit both Alex and Michael through. _It’s a portal!_ Michael thought. He quickly realized that there was someone on the other side, coming through. His heart raced as the approaching figure stepped into the moonlight, which seemed to have grown brighter with their presence.

She was a tall woman, her dark eyes sharp, her brown skin turned to silver against the moonlight. She looked like she could raze Michael’s house to the ground with one blow. Michael guessed she was even older than Alex. She had a permanent frown etched into her face, and there were black markings all over her body – runes he couldn’t identify. Her left eye, which was a pale blue, had a deep scar piercing through it, but when her gaze caught Alex, it softened instantly.

“Alex,” she said before she pulled Alex to her chest.

“Maria, I’m sorry,” Alex said, his voice cracking. He was crying. “I’m sorry.”

“I have been searching for you for days,” Maria said angrily, and pulled back. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “Where have you been?”

Michael thought Alex would tell her the truth, and for a brief moment, he wondered what someone like this Maria woman would do to someone like Wyatt. He shuddered at the possibility.

However, Alex simply shook his head, “I lost my way. Maria, I shouldn’t have wandered off. If it hadn’t been for Michael, I don’t know what I would’ve—”

“Michael?” Maria said, and only then noticed Michael standing there. Michael felt small under Maria’s gaze, and he stepped back. After a moment, Maria nodded, her expression serious. “Yes, I see.”

Michael swallowed back the lump in his throat, unable to say anything. After what felt like an eternity of being held captive by Maria, the woman finally returned her attention to Alex. “Alex, we must go now.”

Alex nodded without a moment’s hesitation, and gripped Maria’s hand with his. He seemed to gain strength from being at her side. They both turned towards the portal, and Alex looked over his shoulder at Michael.

“Thank you, Michael,” he said, “for your help.”

_You’re welcome_ , Michael wanted to say. _Where are you going? Will I ever see you again? Is there any way of reaching you?_

Instead, what he said was—

“You already said that.”

Alex huffed a chuckle. “Right.”

And without another word, he and his friend both stepped through the opening in the tree, and vanished. The tree slowly returned to its original state, as if there had never been a portal at all. The moonlight dimmed down, and Michael was left standing in the silence, alone.

Still, as he took the empty road back home, he found himself pleased. He could not think of Wyatt, or what would happen once he realized Alex had escaped, nor did he think about Maria who had stared at him with the strangest look he’d ever seen, as if she had been having a silent debate with herself over Michael’s worth.

The only person Michael could think of was Alex, wondering what he would say to him when he saw him again, and when that would be. He recalled what his father had said about the Witchlings, the way his aunt had seemed nervous about the prospect of their existence, the way his mother had spoken of them as if they were the most stomach-churning beings to ever exist, imaginary or not.

And all the while, he couldn’t help but think that Alex, despite what everyone had said of his kind, had been quite nice.

Chapter Two. 1750

Michael spent a lot of time after that night thinking of Alex. He never heard from Wyatt again, but knew through his mother’s gossip that his family had moved out of Britain for work. _Good riddance_ , Michael thought when he first heard the news. His father had known of their friendship and patted Michael’s shoulder gruffly. Nobody knew that Wyatt had tried to kill Michael in a drunken rage, as he kept the whole night a secret from his family. Especially meeting Alex. Alex was the greatest secret of all.

Michael’s family left London the next morning, and Michael could not find a reason to run off and see Alex before leaving without confessing to his family of their meeting. So, Michael left without a word of goodbye. He thought Alex had probably forgotten all about him, their few minutes together nothing more than a bad memory he wanted erased. Then Michael shook the thought from his mind, as it left him feeling depressed.

The next time he returned to London, Michael was eighteen, and he had spent a great deal of time in Norwich trying to find out all he could about sorcerers and their portals, but he found nothing he could trust in books; it was all about witches and wizards being haggard creatures that cackled maniacally and loved to curse everyone they came across. None of it sounded anything like Alex.

The next best thing he could do was ask his father for whatever _his_ father had told him about them.

“My boy, why do you want to know?” his father had asked, and Michael had said simply that the stories were fascinating.

Unfortunately, aside from the fact that the creatures did actually exist, his father could tell him nothing else, as he and his siblings had never really paid their father much attention when he spoke.

He spent countless hours in parks, around nature, waiting for a portal to open somewhere, but he had no such luck.

It wasn’t until their return to London that he harbored any hope of seeing Alex again. As soon as their bags were out of their carriages, Michael excused himself and hurried to the same empty park where the same hollow tree rested.

As Michael stood before it, out of breath, tilting his head back to see the branches, he realized he had no idea what to do. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, and cut his finger on a sharp branch, then placed his hand on the tree, his eyes closed, just as he remembered Alex doing. He tried concentrating on the portal, imagining a glowing light emanating from the hollow, but when he peeked an eye open, he saw nothing. He tried again, but still, nothing happened. He stepped back, his brows furrowed. He then tried squeezing himself into the hollow, expecting it to open to another realm upon his entrance, but he was met with hard wood on the other side.

At first, Michael thought that maybe the portals only opened at night, so he returned to the tree that night, and the next, and the one after that, but after two weeks, he came to realize that maybe Alex had left for good that night two years ago. Why would he have stayed in London after what had happened? And if Alex left, then maybe his portal left with him.

Michael returned home that night dejected. Two years, and it was as if Alex had never existed, the only proof of their meeting the next morning were the injuries he had sustained from Wyatt, and now that Michael thought about it, even those seemed like a pitiful piece of evidence. For all he knew, he could’ve gotten very drunk himself, and imagined the whole thing. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. _That_ thought was even more depressing.

Michael barely paid attention to his parents’ conversation at dinner, having dodged their questions on his whereabouts. He thought they were talking about visiting old friends, and his mother may have told him something about dressing in his finest clothes for tomorrow’s lunch.

He hummed noncommittally and buried himself underneath the covers of his bed as soon as he reached his room. He should not be so upset about the prospect of never seeing Alex again. It wasn’t as if they had been friends, not really. Michael fell asleep with the resigned knowledge that when he woke, he would have to forget about Alex.

The next morning, Michael sat in his family’s carriage, watching the buildings and people as they passed by. His mother had said they were going to visit the Prissley household, their ‘very good friends.’

_That’s funny_ , Michael thought at his mother’s choice of words. If they were such good friends, Michael should’ve at least been able to remember what that daughter of theirs looked like.

They had arrived at the Prissley house, and were welcomed inside by the footman, Jenkin. After being seated in their large – and very extravagant – drawing room, entertaining himself by watching the birds fly on and off the windowsill, Michael felt his shoulder tapped.

“Michael,” his mother said calmly, though her gaze was sharp and her smile tight, “where are your manners?”

Michael was just about to ask what she meant when he noticed someone else had just joined them. He stood to greet Eleanor who, he now remembered, had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as his mother. She wore a blue dress covered in feathers and something that glittered, as was the fan she held just below her chin, and her hair was in a big bun atop her head.

“My, Eleanor,” Michael heard his mother gasp. _A tad dramatic_ , he thought. “Don’t you look _beautiful_!” Though Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her blonde bun. He wondered what would happen if he were to poke it.

“Hello, Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington,” she giggled. “How lovely it is to see you again.” Her eyes settled on Michael and her smile widened. “Tis nice to see you, as well, Michael.”

“Michael,” his mother said, “doesn’t she look absolutely wonderful?”

“Hm?” he blinked. Michael could swear he smelled sugar. “Uh, yes.”

Eleanor giggled again, raising the fan to hide her smile. “Oh, Michael, still speechless, I see.”

And the adults proceeded to have their long and riveting conversations of gowns and politics. All the while, Eleanor spoke to Michael about how sorry she was for being late, of how – in her haste to get downstairs and see Michael – she was quick to throw on whatever her servant had offered her, and continued apologizing, her face hidden shyly behind her fan, for how ‘horrid’ she was sure she looked.

Michael hummed to half of her apologies, the other half he had not even bothered pretending to listen to.

“Jenkin,” Eleanor’s mother said, “do go check on the pastries and see if they are ready, will you?”

Jenkin bowed and said, “Yes, my Lady.”

And Michael, seeing that Eleanor was ready to start speaking again, stood up abruptly and followed Jenkin. “I would like to accompany you, if that’s alright,” he said, glancing nervously at Eleanor. “I, um, have always had such a fascination with kitchens and their designs. Would you mind it, Jenkin?”

Jenkin, apparently not used to being asked for his opinion, bowed humbly, and said, “Not at all, sir. Whatever pleases you.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, and without another look at Eleanor, followed the footman out the door. He only vaguely heard Mrs. Prissley boast about their handmaiden’s ‘brilliant baking’ before the doors of the drawing room closed behind him, and he let out a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Eleanor was just as difficult to breathe around as his own family.

Michael heard laughing as they approached the kitchen, and Jenkin must have as well because he sighed heavily. Michael, on the other hand, found himself smiling. The sound was so light and infectious. It struck him as odd that anything fun could exist in such a dull place.

“Your chores are finished, I presume?” Jenkin said as soon as he walked in, though there was no real scorn in his voice.

“Yes, my darling, we’ve finished,” Michael heard one of the servants say, and controlled his expression before walking in after Jenkin.

As soon as he did, he froze. The kitchen was huge, there were what looked to be ten people working, and there were two servants running around the large room. One of them saw Michael enter and froze, his smile having instantly disappeared. The other, however, had not noticed him come in, and ran right into his chest.

He smiled widely and the servant gasped, stepping back. It was Alex.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, I didn’t…” but he saw Michael and he trailed off, his eyes widening. “It’s you!”

“Alex!” Jenkin started, but Michael couldn’t hear him.

He couldn’t believe it. Alex was here, right in front of him – and just when he had given up hope. He was sure he was smiling like a fool, but he couldn’t help it.

“Sir,” Michael heard Jenkin address him, “please forgive Alex’s informalities. I assure you, it will not happen again.”

“Alex,” Michael said, and without thinking, took Alex’s hands in his. “This is incredible! You’re really here! I-I’ve been looking for you for ages!”

Alex was surprised, his lips slightly parted. Michael was even a little taller than him now, but Alex was just as he remembered him; the same dark, messy hair, his bangs falling over his eyes, same dark eyes, only now they shone as they regarded Michael (did they always do that?), his clothes were not mudded and torn, but instead, he wore a simple short-sleeved shirt, and his face was red from running. Michael was unable to look away.

“Pardon me, sir,” he heard that same soft voice speak up. It was the other servant, a man who looked no younger than Michael, and taller than anyone else in the kitchen. He glanced between Alex and Michael, and asked, “You know Alex?”

“Kyle,” Jenkin said, though he sounded just as surprised, “don’t ask questions.”

“Yes, I do,” Michael said, staring at Alex who had yet to say a word. “He’s my…” he trailed off, wondering what he should call him. His acquaintance? His rescuer?

He could see the curiosity in Alex’s eyes as well. What _were_ they? Michael decided on the only thing that wouldn’t bring up too many questions, the one thing he would be pleased with. “Friend. He’s my friend.”

Alex blinked, then smiled.

Michael kept a hold on his hands. “And I am so very glad to see you again.”

“As am I,” Alex admitted. “It feels as if centuries have passed since we met last.”

Michael ducked his head, laughing. “Oh, thank God. I thought maybe you had been purposely avoiding me. Well, avoiding _London_.”

“Why would you be avoiding London, Alex?” the servant, Kyle, asked. Even Jenkin seemed to wonder of the answer.

Alex looked at them as if only now remembering they were there, and he slipped his hands from Michael’s, embarrassed. “I, um… had an incident two years ago. I nearly died, but… Michael saved me.”

“We saved each other,” Michael said. “I had never thanked you for it.”

“You saved him!” Kyle exclaimed, and immediately covered his mouth with his hands.

Alex shook his head, smiling softly. Then, it turned small as he asked, “I hope you did not face any grief after I left.”

He was being careful with his words, but Michael understood what he was really asking. _Had that monster who kidnapped me tried to harm you again?_

Michael shook his head. “I dare say neither of us are to face such grief again. Not in London… nor in all of Britain, in fact.”

Alex looked relieved at the idea, his smile widening. Michael knew well that Alex could look after himself, given the abilities he had, so the only logical conclusion was that he was relieved for _Michael’s_ sake. The thought made his heart jump.

“Alex,” Jenkin spoke, grabbing both of their attention. He looked hesitant to interrupt. “I was instructed to ask you of the pastries.”

“Oh, yes!” Alex said, and ran over to the brick oven, checking on a tray of what looked like croissants. “Yes, they are almost ready. Just another minute or two. I shall have them sent upstairs myself, not to worry.”

“Very well,” Jenkin said, glancing between Alex and Michael. Finally, he cleared his throat, and said, “Sir, shall we return to the drawing room?”

“What? Oh,” Michael glanced at Alex and saw that he was stealing glances at him, too. “Is it alright if I just stay here? I-I’d like to see the pastries when they come out.”

Jenkin didn’t look like he believed him, but he nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

Once he was gone, Michael saw that Kyle had too returned to cleaning pots, his face red as he focused very intently on what he was doing.

Michael stepped close enough to Alex so that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “Alex, I… I thought I would never see you again. If I had known you were here the whole time, I would’ve—”

“I only started working here a few months ago,” Alex said, moving past him to scrub the tables clean. “I was in my world.”

“But I tried looking for a portal, like the one you had made. I couldn’t find any.”

Alex shook his head, like he found Michael’s curiosity very amusing. “Of course, _you_ couldn’t have. Only a Child of Auria can open a portal.”

“A what?”

“A Child of Auria,” Alex explained. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Kyle wasn’t listening, and when he was reassured, he said, his voice quiet, “Auria is the goddess of magic. It is the true name for our kind. Any creature with any magical blood in their veins is said to be a descendant of hers. I believe your kind call us _Witchlings_.” Alex checked on Kyle again. “I must say, Michael, I am glad you never managed to find a portal in use. I can only imagine the disaster that would’ve ensued had you tried to go through one.”

Michael’s brows furrowed. He tried not to look too disappointed. “Oh?”

Alex must’ve noticed because he rested his hand on Michael’s. “The portal’s magic is very strong, and can be difficult for even my kind to cross through. That is why they are used so sparingly. But for a mortal, it is a guarantee of death. Had you found a portal, we would not be speaking today.”

Michael stared at the table, his shoulders slumped. “I had no idea. That there was so much more to your kind, it’s all so fascinating.” He then thought of something, and - just as Alex did – checked to make sure Kyle wasn’t listening. Then, he asked, “Nobody knows you’re a sorcerer?”

Alex’s smile turned sad, and Michael instantly regretted having said anything.

“I don’t use magic,” he said, as if in defense, “not if I can help it. Nobody’s asked me if I’m a sorcerer, so I’m not really deceiving them…”

“If they ask, lie,” Michael said, the image of Alex chained to a wall flashing in his mind. After Wyatt, he would understand if Alex didn’t trust _any_ mortals… and yet, here he was, trusting Michael so easily with so much already. His heart jumped again, and he stepped closer to him, covering the hand Alex had on his with his own.

“Enough of all that now,” he said. “I’m just happy to see you. I haven’t stopped looking for you since that night.”

Alex gasped, his eyes boring into Michael’s. “Why? What did you want of me?”

Michael thought about it. He had wanted to see Alex, he had wanted to see him so badly this entire time. But see him for what?

He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head, his eyes narrowed. “D’you know? I have no idea.”

Alex’s eyes widened slightly before he also laughed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. Michael’s hands unconsciously tightened around Alex’s. His laugh… it really was a pleasant sound.

“Well, _finally_!” they heard, and both stopped laughing. Just as Michael turned to the door, he felt Alex’s hand slip from his.

It was Eleanor. She was staring at Michael, her lips pulled into a tight smile that he thought resembled his mother’s.

“When Jenkin said you wanted to stay in the kitchens, I thought he was joking!” she said, and despite her light tone, Michael had the same feeling he’d usually have when his mother was trying not to scold him in front of guests. Eleanor tilted her head to look at Alex over Michael’s shoulder. “But here you are.”

Alex looked down, any trace of a smile having vanished, and he bowed his head slightly before returning to work.

When Eleanor looked back at Michael, her smile had returned, amused by the effect she had on her servant. “Come along, darling,” she said, hooking her fingers around his arm and standing close enough that the feathers of her fan tickled his chin. “I know you want to see the pastries, but one mustn’t be gluttonous.” She laughed. “You can have one when it is served to you on a proper plate.”

“M-My lady,” Alex suddenly spoke, and Michael saw him setting a tray of freshly baked pastries on the table. Immediately, the kitchen was flooded with the smell of butter, fresh bread, and sugar. _A scent that suited Alex very well_ , Michael thought happily. Alex glanced at him. “If the gentleman is eager for a pastry, I can have one prepared for him now. It will only take a moment.”

Michael smiled at the prospect of being in this warm kitchen with Alex a bit longer, of being the first of the guests to taste something by his own hand, and he pulled his arm from Eleanor’s grasp. “Yes, I am very eager. So eager.” He turned to Eleanor who was no longer smiling. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

Eleanor glanced at Alex, then back at Michael. “Of course. Of course, it is. Well, I’ll return to the company, then. Don’t be too long, Michael.”

As soon as she was gone, Kyle gaped at Alex. “You’re going to get in _so_ much trouble for that!”

Alex sighed as he carefully removed a pastry from the tray and set the plate on the table he had just cleaned. “Yes, I probably will.”

He beckoned Michael to sit, and Michael did as he was told. Alex handed Michael a fork, and returned to the tray, leaving him to eat. Michael, however, just stared at his plate. He planned to enjoy it in every sense, and for as long as he could.

Chapter Three. 1752

The Harringtons’ visits to London – in particular, the Prissley household – had become much more frequent over the following two years. Michael never understood why his family had taken such an interest in London, but he didn’t ask. It gave him an excuse to see Alex.

Eleanor sensed this, and constantly set Alex to work where she believed Michael wouldn’t want to waste any of his time. She was wrong. The next time Michael had come to see Alex, he found him working in the basement, cleaning up cobwebs and polishing the walls for whatever reason.

“Miss Prissley reckons they need a bit of shining up,” Alex had said, strands of hair sticking to his face and neck from the sweat, and yet he smiled at Michael. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t bother me.”

The next time, Alex was stuck in the women’s bathrooms where Michael could obviously not follow, but he stayed outside the door, talking to Alex and asking him questions from there. And this pattern continued. Every time his family came to see the Prissleys, Michael would head straight to the kitchen and ask either Kyle or Jenkin where Alex was, and would find that he was assigned to do something more strenuous than the last time Michael had visited.

Michael felt extraordinarily guilty. It was clear Eleanor was punishing Alex because of Michael’s interest in him, and thought that maybe if he were to at least stop spending the entirety of his visits with him, Eleanor would leave Alex alone. But Michael couldn’t help it. There was so much he wanted to learn about Alex, and the fact that Alex was always willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know felt glorifying; it reassured him that Alex considered him worthy of the information.

Today, Alex was forced to work in the gardens, plucking weeds and planting small trees, digging into the damp mud with his fingers. He didn’t seem to mind this particular task at all, though.

“Tending to the gardens is always my favorite thing to do,” he had said. “I suppose Miss Prissley believes me to loathe it because I always walk back covered in dirt, but… I really love it. Won’t tell _her_ that though.”

After two years, Michael believed Alex knew everything there was to know about him (which wasn’t much, if he was being honest), just as he knew everything there was to know about Alex; including his family background. He was an only child, his parents both having been Children of Auria.

“They died in the Great Fire War a long time ago,” he had said.

But that was where the story always ended. Alex never liked to go into detail about the Great Fire War, who the warring parties were, how long it had lasted, and how it had ended. All Michael knew for sure was that it was the greatest threat to Alex’s kind that there was, and whoever they had fought was so cruel and terrifying that his people didn’t dare mention it anymore.

“I’m sure there have been others in the past,” Alex had said with a small shake of his head, “but the Great Fire War was the worst war _I_ had ever been a part of. We’re all just trying to move past it now.”

“Of course,” Michael had said, when really, all he wanted to do was gape and yell, _‘You’ve fought in war? Really?!’_

He couldn’t believe this same man who silently allowed himself to be abused by Eleanor could’ve been in battle at some point in his life. Michael suddenly wanted to know what position Alex had had, but the look on his face told Michael it was a bad idea to ask.

Michael had the strange, unnaturally strong urge to hold Alex, but he refrained. Instead, he changed the subject, asking Alex why he didn’t just use magic to do his work instead of suffering through it manually.

“It’d certainly be a lot easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“Not really,” Alex said, grateful for the change of subject. “As I told you when we first met, magic is very draining. Only a witch or wizard who train their powers can use them frequently without losing strength. My father was to be my teacher, but then he and my mother both died. After that, I just preferred to stay in the mortal world, away from that life, so using my magic, no matter how little, can be quite exhausting.”

“Train their powers?” Michael asked. “How do you mean?”

But Michael never got to know how because just as Alex was about to answer, they heard footsteps approaching them in the mud.

Eleanor was trudging toward them, her expression irritated as she eyed the ground, as if it was purposely latching onto her heels.

Eleanor had grown very impatient with Michael lately, not even bothering to hide her frustration when she’d see that he had yet again gone off to have a chat with Alex. Now, however, her expression had turned pleasant when she looked up at him.

“Right where I thought you’d be,” Eleanor said. “I was hoping to speak to you.” Michael noticed that she hadn’t even acknowledged Alex’s presence.

Michael looked to Alex, but he had already gone back to work on the trees, his back turned to them both. Michael noticed though that Alex’s hands were patting the mud down around the tree very slowly.

“About what?” he finally asked Eleanor.

For a second, Eleanor’s smile turned tight. Clearly, she still had not gotten used to Michael questioning her. He expected she could not be used to anyone not blindly following her orders.

But the strain left as soon as it came, and Eleanor took hold of his arm, leading him away from the gardens. “Come along, darling,” she said with the air of a mother pulling her child away from a brand-new toy on a store shelf.

It wasn’t until they were halfway up the spiral staircase that Michael grew impatient and pulled his arm out of Eleanor’s grasp.

“What’s this about, Eleanor?”

Eleanor sighed, and said, “Michael, dear, I think I have been more than tolerant with your… _inappropriate_ attachment to Alex. I have even been gracious enough to lie to our parents concerning your whereabouts, and I understand that he was a nice distraction to ease your mind when we were younger, but you’ve grown, and it is high time you act that way.”

Michael frowned. “Alex is _not_ a distraction.”

Eleanor shook her head, still smiling, amused. This infuriated Michael. When Alex smiled like that, his eyes held warmth, his tone endearing, as if he thought Michael was the most darling being he’d ever seen. Eleanor, however, spoke as his mother did; with arrogance, as if what he said held no weight or value.

“Michael, I urge you to _think_ rationally, if you can manage it. Our parents have been speaking of our future relations. We do have more to think about than idle affairs and senseless pleasure.”

Michael didn’t know what he should be angry about more. “What future relations?” he settled on.

Eleanor tilted her head at him, as if it was obvious. “Why, our engagement, of course.”

“ _Engagement_?” his eyes widened. “Eleanor, I never agreed to any engagement!”

Finally, Eleanor’s smile seemed to dissipate. It brought him some satisfaction to see her the confused one for a change.

“Why else did you think our families have been meeting so often?” she said.

Michael blinked. “I honestly have not given it any thought at all.” He didn’t care, really. It wasn’t as if he spoke to anyone in the house aside from Alex, and perhaps Kyle and Jenkin. They were all much more pleasurable to be around than the people upstairs, Michael realized.

“Well… it hardly matters anymore,” Eleanor suddenly said, snapping him out of his thoughts. She held her chin high, having recomposed herself. “Alex will be gone tomorrow, and there will be no more playing around. I do believe that in a few weeks’ time, you will have found your wits. And I promise you, I will be there to help shape you into a proper gentleman.”

When she was finished, all Michael had processed was; “Gone where? Where’s he going?”

Then his eyes narrowed with realization. “You don’t mean you’re _sacking_ him? Would you honestly do that for something as petty as jealousy?”

Eleanor’s eyes suddenly turned cold, her frown fixed, and her jaw clenched. This was the angriest Michael had ever seen her.

“Do not _ever_ use that word again,” she said, her voice so dangerously low that Michael found himself unable to respond. “I have no reason to be jealous. Call me that again, and the engagement is _off_.” 

She then turned her profile to him, making a small _hmph_ sound. “And I don’t care how handsome you are. Now, come along, my dear, your family’s been asking for you – they say it’s time to go.” She fixed him with another piercing stare. “And unless you want me to tell them the truth, I suggest you do as I say.”

The next day, the Harringtons were on their way to see the Prissleys yet again. Michael had not dared ask his parents if what Eleanor had said was true. He feared they would tell him it was. He tapped his leg incessantly on the carriage floor until his mother had snapped at him to stop.

He did as he was told, only to resume a minute later. He couldn’t help it; he was nervous. Eleanor had said that today, Alex would be leaving. He had spent all of late last night, regretting having not pulled away from Eleanor, and stubbornly returned to see Alex. It couldn’t be true though, could it? Could Alex have already gone? What if another two years passed before Michael could see him again?

As the Prissley manor came into view, Michael’s mother reminded him to “keep by Eleanor’s side” for the whole of the day. When Michael had thoughtlessly muttered that he would’ve preferred to spend time in the kitchens rather than sit with the adults debating social events and government issues, his mother had told him quite sharply, “Then just take Eleanor with you. Do whatever it takes to keep her happy.”

But Michael ignored his mother’s orders. As soon as they all went upstairs to the drawing room, he hurried to the kitchens, hoping to find Alex. He found someone else instead.

“Kyle,” he said. “Where’s Alex?”

“Master Harrington,” Kyle frowned at the sight of him. He continued washing the pots and pans in front of him. “I don’t know.”

“Well, do you know where he _could_ be?”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t say I do.”

Michael stared at Kyle. He noticed he was trying very hard not to look at him. “Kyle,” he said slowly, “are you okay? Is Alex alright?”

Kyle hesitated, then sighed, turning the water off. “Sir, though it is not my place, may I make a request of you?”

Michael blinked. “A request?”

“Yes,” Kyle said, then turned to Michael, though he kept his eyes on his chin. “Sir… please stop this search for Alex.”

Michael stood still for a long moment, then asked, “Did Alex ask you to tell me this?”

“No, sir,” Kyle blushed, and looked away. “I do it out of my love for him. I do it as his friend. Sir, you must see it… there can be no relation between you.”

“Why?” Michael said, not caring that there might’ve been an edge to his tone. He didn’t even bother denying that he wanted a relation with Alex, because he did. He didn’t want to marry Eleanor, he didn’t care about his parents’ plans for his future… he just wanted to be with Alex, the one person who seemed to make his troubles go away with a single glance, a single smile.

“Because of our positions? Because we’re both men?” Michael continued, feeling irritated. Best intentions or not, he hated this feeling of having everyone around him making decisions on the behalf of _his_ future. “I thought you would’ve seen by now, Kyle, after all this time, that something so trivial is of no importance to me.”

“No, sir,” Kyle said, finally raising his eyes to Michael’s. “It is not because of your positions. It is because of Alex’s nature.” He paused, looked around to make sure no one had walked in without their noticing, then said, “He’s told me that you know – _what_ he is, that is.”

Michael watched Kyle carefully, his heart slowly crawling up his throat. Could Alex have told him? After an entire two minutes had passed, he realized Kyle really _did_ know. “How did you figure it out? Did he tell you he was a sorcerer?”

Kyle’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t been too sure that he and Michael had understood each other either. He shook his head. “He didn’t have to. Almost a year ago, he and I started early morning work, before the sun had even come up. We thought it would be fun to have the place to ourselves. Alex had gone out to the gardens, and I had lit the fire to keep warm. My pant leg had caught and lit aflame,” Kyle said, gesturing to the oven in the back. “I hadn’t noticed until the fire touched my leg. I fell to the floor, frantic. I was screaming and crying, I was sure I would die as the fire kept spreading to my chest.”

Kyle paused. He shut his eyes and swallowed, as if the memory brought back that physical pain. Then, his expression softened. “But Alex had heard me. He came running in, saw what happened, and kneeled beside me, trying to sooth me with comforting words. At first, I couldn’t understand how he could touch the flames without being burned, then I saw it; his hands, they were emitting a bright golden light. As each second passed, the pain began to disappear, as did the burn marks. When he was finished, he nearly passed out. He had exerted himself to save me.” He shook his head. “I don’t care what he says, I believe he risked his life to save mine.

“I remember how he had looked away from me, as if he was sorry. Sorry he’d betrayed me. And he told me afterwards how thankful he was that I would keep his secret. And of course I would. I also swore that, for as long as I knew him, I would protect him from people who would try to hurt him.” Kyle’s eyes turned sad. “That is why I beg you to leave him. I couldn’t ask this of you before because he so looked forward to seeing you. But now that he is leaving, I wish you would not make it harder for him.”

“You think _I_ would hurt him?” Michael asked, unable to help the hurt in his voice. He wondered what he’d done that could’ve given Kyle such doubts about his loyalty and feelings for Alex.

“I do not think you have to try,” Kyle said. “It is inevitable – for a relation between a mortal and a sorcerer.”

Michael frowned. “Why would it be inevitable?”

Kyle looked confused, as if it should’ve been quite obvious. “Because as you age, Master Harrington, Alex will not.”

Michael slowly made his way toward the gardens where Kyle eventually was forced to tell him where Alex had preferred to spend his last day. All the while, he thought of what Kyle had told him, and how he could be so blindingly stupid. After four years, he had thought Alex didn’t look any different, but he had never given it much thought.

But Kyle was right. Alex had not grown a day since that night he’d seen him in Wyatt’s wine cellar. His hair had grown longer, but it was only now that Michael realized that Alex hadn’t been changing at all, and that _he_ himself had been the one growing... and one day, he would grow much older, while Alex…

Michael stopped at a corner. He heard a soft melodious voice, warming his heart and making his breath catch in his throat. He knew that voice. He slowly made his way around the house, and spotted Alex’s back turned to him, his knees in the dirt as he continued pulling barely grown trees out of their pots and into the ground. Michael leaned against the wall, and smiled to himself. He had never heard Alex sing before. It was magical, which he felt was very befitting.

“Michael,” Alex smiled when he turned and spotted him. “Hello! What are you doing over there?”

“Listening to you sing,” Michael confessed. “I can spend all day listening to you sing, Alex.”

Alex blushed, and turned away, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm. Michael’s heart would’ve normally jumped at the sight. Now it sunk. _Really_ , he thought to himself miserably. _I should’ve noticed long ago that he wasn’t aging._ He silently gambled that the only reason Alex hadn’t mentioned it was because he had expected him to already know. It _was_ fairly obvious.

“I can spend all day listening to you speak of the stars,” Alex said, his face red. “After the long life I’ve lived, I never thought there was so much to learn of them.”

Michael should’ve smiled, but Alex’s words only made the feeling in his chest heavier. _After the long life I’ve lived…._ Suddenly, every implication Alex had ever made of his _long life_ came rushing at once. He had never given them much thought, only believed that Alex had been referencing the richness that came with a life of magic. He really was _so_ stupid.

Michael sighed and took Alex’s hands in his, not caring about the dirt that had transferred onto him. Even with the damp mud, his hands were warmer than anyone’s Michael had ever known. He wanted to think of something other than Alex’s age, but every time he tried, his thoughts got redirected back to Alex’s departure, and it all left him feeling the same way; angry and frustrated.

“I am furious Eleanor is sacking you,” he said, then ducked his head. “I am sorry, Alex, it’s all my fault.”

“Michael, you’re mistaken,” Alex said softly. “I have not been sacked. Lady Prissley has done nothing to me.” He slowly pulled his hands away from Michael’s. “It is I who has given my resignation. I only wanted to stay to finish tending to the last of the trees, you see, but I shall be leaving tonight. Leaving London.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, Michael, don’t you see?” he said, his smile pitiful. Whether it was pity for Michael or for himself, Michael could not tell. “I _have_ to do this. I’ve been doing it ever since I came to live in the mortal world. Sooner or later, people start to notice that I’m not growing any older. When they do, I have to disappear to avoid risks.”

He smiled. “My departure is long overdue. Eleanor had asked me months ago how old I was, then when my birthday was. I doubt she asked because she planned on buying me a present. Yes, I should’ve left before then, but… I couldn’t. I wanted to stay with you a bit longer.” He went red, and turned around, wiping his face. His voice was light when he spoke again, “But… everything comes to an end. This is simply ours. It has been fun though, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t speak like that,” Michael said. “Like we’re never going to see each other again.”

“We’re not,” he said simply. “I’m leaving tonight, Michael. I’m going home for a while, to my world.”

“I want to come with you then,” he blurted.

“Do not say such foolish things,” Alex said quietly. “I’ve told you before, you would never survive the portals. And even if you could, I wouldn’t take you.” He swallowed, his next words painful. “I don’t know when I’ll come back, but it is very likely that when I do, you will be long since gone from this world. I hope to see that you have left some sort of legacy.”

“Stop it,” Michael shook his head. He felt that same anger he felt at Kyle grow, the same he felt at Eleanor, the same he felt at his parents, but now it grew stronger, for this time, it was Alex who was telling him what his future was to be, what it would consist of, and of what it _wouldn’t_.

“Do not be afraid of love, Michael. Go on, live your life, find a mortal who will steal your heart. It does not have to be Eleanor; the choice is yours.”

“How can you say it is mine when the one person I’ve ever wanted to be with wants to leave me?” he snapped. “I am not afraid of love, Alex, I know it quite well, for I have never felt it so strongly as I do for you.”

Michael expected Alex’s expression to turn to one of joy, of teary-eyed happiness, maybe even embarrassment, but Alex only looked… _afraid?_

His jaw clenched, and Michael had the strong suspicion he was trying not to cry. “Y-You… you mustn’t say such things. You’re… you’re only a child. You don’t know what love is.”

Michael tried not to look betrayed, but by the look on Alex’s face, he knew he had failed. “You claim I am the one who is afraid of love, but that’s not true, is it?” He stepped closer to Alex, holding him by his shoulders. “It is you. You are afraid because you know I love you… and because you love me.”

Alex didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. At that moment, the flowers in the gardens surrounding them all began to bloom and flourish, big and brightly colored. Alex looked at them miserably. He clearly had not intended to use his magic.

But Michael didn’t care, for it spoke volumes.

“We can run away together,” Michael said, already forming plans in his head. “We can go somewhere nobody’s ever heard of either of us, and get married! I-I’ll get a job, I’ll make us money. We can have a small cottage where you could grow your own gardens. We can leave right now, Alex, we could run and never look back!”

“You’re mad!” Alex cried, and pulled away. With every step Michael took toward him, Alex took another step back. “You’re not listening to yourself! Michael, _look at me_! Years have passed, and I have not aged a day… and I will _never_ age. In ten years’ time, you will grow older, and I will still look like _this_. You would give up your life of luxury for a lifetime of running, of hiding from those who know of my kind and fear us. You will face harsh judgement wherever you go, you will struggle to work once the people see your face; once they know who you associate yourself with, and you will resent me for it.”

Michael shook his head, though he found it harder to speak now. “Th-That will never happen. _Never_. I promise!”

“You will lose everything once the people find out what I am, and you will _keep losing_ ,” Alex said, tears now streaming down his face. Michael half-wondered how many times in his life he’d had this conversation, had seen these events come to pass before his eyes. It frightened Michael to think of it. “And all for a man who cannot grow old and die with you.”

Alex took a step forward this time. Michael did not move. “Now, look me in the eyes, and tell me… can you truly be happy with such a life?”

Michael opened his mouth. _Yes_ , he thought. But was it the truth? He imagined the cruelty he would face in his future for being the husband of a sorcerer. There were so many stories of Alex’s kind, and none of them had ever had anything nice or good to say. He imagined people lashing out their fears at him, at Alex. 

He imagined being poor; of sleeping on cold floors on nights that he could not afford a bed; of going hungry for hours for not having enough food… and what if they wanted children? Could Michael guarantee that he could take care of a family?

Try as he might, Michael found he could not give Alex an answer, but that seemed to be answer enough.

Alex nodded slowly, his eyes already filled with more tears threatening to spill. Alex wiped them away before they had the chance, and said, sounding awfully resigned, “It’s alright, Michael. It’s alright.”

He slowly and softly cupped Michael’s cheek. Michael could smell the dirt and flowers on Alex’s hand, and he pressed his own over it, his eyes closed. When he opened them, he saw Alex smiling sadly at him.

“I thank you for being my friend, Michael. Now go. It is time to move forward.”

Alex turned away first, and Michael hesitated before he took a deep breath and did the same. He numbly made his way up the marble staircase, Alex’s last words replaying in his head. _It is time to move forward_. He wondered whether Alex had been addressing that to Michael, or to himself.

The next day, when the Harrington family visited the Prissleys, Alex had gone. Michael only half-listened when Mrs. Prissley had complained about losing such a capable servant, Eleanor continuously interfering only to make an offhanded comment about Alex’s unkempt appearance.

“Always covered in flour, dust, or dirt,” she had giggled behind her gloved hand. “It was quite embarrassing, really.”

Michael did not respond. He preferred to spend the rest of the visit in the kitchens with Kyle who let him sit on one of the stools and wallow in his own misery.

Indeed, Michael did not see Alex the next visit to the Prissley manor, nor any of the ones after that. In fact, he didn’t know it at the time, but it would be another decade before he saw the sorcerer again.

Chapter Four. 1762

It took a month after Alex’s disappearance for Michael to realize something he was ashamed not to have realized sooner; the life he had was not the life he wanted. It had never been. Day after day, Michael found himself living the same hours, wasting his time doing nothing but smiling at people he hated and turning away from the ones who gave his life any sense of adventure or joy. And all for what? To leave another generation who will do more of the same?

With this epiphany in mind, Michael conveyed his true thoughts and feelings to his parents, had told them all about his love for Alex, a sorcerer, and that he had no desire to marry Eleanor. Once they finally believed that Alex was indeed a _Witchling_ , his mother, as he had expected, was livid. She cursed him for being the death of her. She yelled at him for almost six hours straight, glancing at him with a look of disgust every so often, while his father remained silent, staring off into space with furrowed brows.

At some point, his mother lurched forward, frustrated at Michael’s lack of response or anger, and grabbed his hair, pulled his head around as she screamed questions at him like; “DO YOU THINK I RAISED YOU TO GO RUNNING OFF WITH A DEMONIC CREATURE?” and “DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH THAT YOU’D TRY TO KILL ME LIKE THIS? DO YOU?!”

Michael tried to answer a few times, saying that of course he wasn’t, and that this wasn’t about his mother, it was about _him_. But either his mother didn’t hear him, or she didn’t like the answer because she went on screeching every time he dared to speak.

“Will you say something to your son?!” his mother finally snapped at his father.

Harold blinked slowly and looked at Michael, then, in a voice that neither suggested disgust nor support, he said, “What do you hope to accomplish from chasing after this boy?”

“ _Boy_ ,” his mother spat. “That thing is no boy, it’s a _beast_!”

Michael refrained from answering his mother, though his fists clenched from where they lay on his lap. He looked to his father, and said, “I am not doing this solely for Alex. I can no longer live a life in which I must force myself to be happy with each new coming day.”

His shoulders slumped as he faced his mother, his tone desperate. “He makes me _happy_ , mother. Does that not hold greater value to you than wealth and status?”

“Oh, my poor heart,” his mother cried, having not heard her son. “Lord help me, he’s going to kill me.”

“Mother, _please_ … if you would just open your mind and heart to the possibility of there being _more_ to life than,” he gestured around, “ _this_ —”

But his mother wouldn’t listen. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “What? _This_ life is not enough for you, is it? Alright then. Let it be known that if you wish to pursue this foolish fantasy, this will no longer be your home.”

“Elizabeth—” Harold tried to argue, but one sharp look from her, and he turned silent.

She pointed a trembling finger at Michael. “Tomorrow morning, we will return to the Prissleys where you _will_ take Eleanor’s hand in marriage,” she seethed, her eyes colder than he had ever known them.

Michael stood. “I will not.”

“Then I want you OUT!” his mother said. “And you are to take nothing with you. You are no longer a Harrington, nor are you my son.”

Michael felt a lump in his throat grow. He had known such a response was to come from his mother, had been so sure of it, but to actually see it come to pass… Michael couldn’t help but be disappointed.

When he spoke, he was surprised at how calm he sounded. “I am truly sorry you feel that way.”

His mother, having spoken her piece, stormed out of the drawing room. Michael looked slowly to his father, expecting another angry outburst, but his father simply stared at him.

“Have you thought this through?” his father eventually asked. Michael was only thankful he wasn’t yelling.

Michael nodded. “I’m leaving Norwich, father. I won’t be returning to London, either.”

“Where will you go? What will you do, my son?”

“I will find work,” Michael said, determined. “My life will finally mean something – if to no one else, to myself. And I will continue my search for Alex. I can only pray that he hears me, wherever he is… whatever he’s doing now.”

“You truly love him,” his father said, as if he really just noticed.

Michael did not hesitate before he nodded. “Do you hate me for it as well?”

“Your mother does not hate you,” his father said heavily. “She is simply… distraught. She doesn’t know what to do. But of this… _Alex_ boy… if you recall, Michael, it was one of his kind that saved your grandfather’s life.”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said none of you really believed him.”

“Yes…” he said, looking out the window pensively. “We couldn’t, could we? Now, I suppose, I have no choice.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. After a long moment of silence, his father said, “William Kingsley was an old friend of your grandfather’s. He lives in Greenwich. You remember seeing Greenwich, don’t you?”

Michael nodded, confused as to why his father was mentioning that village now.

“Kingsley owns several lands, his cheapest in Greenwich. He is by no means an easy man to warm up to, and he will refuse you lest he knows that you are working – making an effort to survive and live as honest men do. Before asking him for a roof, I suggest you find work in Greenwich, something simple.”

“Father…”

“It will be hard, mind you,” his father said, avoiding his eyes. “I remember the struggle of work when I was young, younger than you are now, in fact. And I know Greenwich will be very different for you, but if you wish to start anywhere, it would be best to start there. There are good people there, though I cannot promise you will not face prejudice. Even as myths, Alex’s kind are not looked kindly upon. Still… it is a better place than most… unless, of course, you reconsider?”

Michael swallowed. He had never spoken much to his father, both of them always too busy following orders given to them by his mother. Michael found it a shame that it was now, under such circumstances, that he saw the kind of man his father was. He suddenly wished he could go back in time and speak more to him, form a stronger bond.

But those days were behind him. Perhaps, one day, he could return to this house and see his parents again, and perhaps, on that day, their conversations would be different, and Michael would not be alone.

Now, he had to heed Alex’s departing words. It was indeed time to move forward.

His father must’ve realized Michael’s answer without his needing to say anything because he nodded, his expression grim. Michael silently wondered if his father had the same regrets that he had. He chose not to ask, for he didn’t think either answer would make him feel any better.

His father came up beside him, his eyes facing forward. “In that case,” he placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, “I must wish you good luck, my son.”

And with that, his father left the drawing room, leaving Michael alone. Michael looked out the window and took a deep breath. The moment he left this house, he would no longer be a Harrington.

_It’s fine_ , he thought. A small price to pay for the chance to live. Michael had been told not to take anything with him, but one of the older handmaidens had packed him a bag of bread rolls and sweets regardless.

“Don’t you worry about me, sir,” she had said when Michael said she would get into trouble with his mother, tears streaming her wrinkly face. “You just look after yourself now.”

Michael took one last look over his shoulder at the house of his childhood. _Guerin_ would be his new name. It had belonged to his paternal grandmother, and she had always boasted of the power it gave her.

“ _Guard_ , it means,” his grandmother had always said, and Michael had liked that. To think of himself as Alex’s shield, of Alex being his. He liked it.

Michael thought of Alex, of the mysteries that awaited him, of the life he was leaving behind, and he marched on – away from the golden cage that had kept him trapped for so long.

Ten years later, Michael found himself in a pub, surrounded by his friends, all cheering over their raised, hard-earned mugs of rum. The air carried the stench of fish, but no one seemed particularly bothered by it, especially considering the other attendees smelled of some things far worse.

After reaching Greenwich, Michael had found small, poorly-paying jobs shoveling manure and cleaning shoes, which was a challenge for the first few months considering his mother had never before thought it appropriate for a gentleman to undertake any physical labor, but just as with any task, Michael had been able to adjust and do what he needed to. Eventually, he met Charles Allerton; a large, scruffy sort of man with wild gray hair and always dressed in clothes that seemed to be covered in blood. Michael later realized that Allerton ran the fishing boats that brought food into Greenwich. He offered Michael a job, as one of his workers had recently – _and very conveniently_ , Michael thought – moved to London after being offered a position in printing.

It paid better than anything he’d had so far, but it was still very difficult work. Kingsley seemed particularly pleased when Michael had told him, saying that he had started as a fisherman as well. It gave Michael hope for the future. A decade passed, and Michael now was the one who led the men out to sea every morning.

He’d been told by many that his journey had been relatively easier than most. Some have even gone as far as to say that Michael carried luck wherever he went, and Michael couldn’t help but secretly wonder if that was to be credited to Alex. His life had changed so much after meeting him… could Alex have put a spell of fortune on him when they had last seen each other?

Even now, his friends thanked the heavens for their prosperity, for – according to them – business had never been as good as it was until Michael had arrived, and Michael found himself thinking of Alex and his possible influence again.

“Mate,” one of his friends said, red in the face, slinging his arm over Michael’s shoulders, “when’re you gonna find yourself a lady? Don’t you fink it’s about time?”

The men all laughed at once, hollering and yelling about the beauties they’d seen around the village. Michael smiled without heart. He could not share in their amusement, not this time.

“He’s right, you know,” another man said, “You could have any woman you wanted, or _man_ , for that matter. Isn’t there anyone who finds your fancy?”

Michael laughed and shook his head, stepping away from the crowd. “You bloody bastards, why don’t you worry about your own wives?”

Someone made a joke about domesticity and children, and the whole pub howled. Michael chuckled half-heartedly, though he couldn’t help but be jealous. He said he wanted fresh air, and opened the door.

He stepped out into the night, his mug still in his hand, and the cold air hit him square across the face, sobering him. His smile faded as he stared out into the surrounding trees. He had spent ten years waiting for Alex’s return, but still, he had seen no sign of him. Michael couldn’t imagine what he was doing. He remembered a story Alex had told him long ago, about the Great Fire War that had happened in his world.

More often than not, Michael found his thoughts wandering there, but he would always push them away. He couldn’t think like that; he had to stay positive. He was sure Alex was alright. After all, if he wasn’t, this fortune that seemed to follow Michael everywhere would fade, wouldn’t it?

Michael looked around, then placed his hands on one of the tree trunks. His work had changed him, given him strength, turned his fingers hard and rough – but his touch was always gentle. What he wouldn’t give for Alex to hear him now, to see him. If he really had cast a spell to bring Michael fortune, then he hoped it to bring him _Alex himself_.

“If you really want me to be happy,” he said aloud, hoping that, even if he couldn’t create a portal, his voice would still carry over to wherever Alex was, “then you must return to me… for happiness without you is impossible.”

A minute passed, then two, then ten, but – as always – nothing happened. Michael could only hear the wind against the branches, his friends’ laughter from inside… and just as he turned away, he heard his name.

He froze, his grip on his mug tight. There was someone standing behind him, but he daren’t face them in case he was wrong. His heart hammered against his chest as he turned to see Alex standing there, several feet away. He wore a cloak, pulling back the hood to reveal his tear-filled eyes. The same eyes Michael had looked into those ten years ago. Alex was just as Michael remembered him, always _just as he remembered him_ , strands of his dark brown hair standing out messily, urging Michael to step closer and run his fingers through them.

Michael had to remind himself that it was not Alex who had changed, but him. He wondered if Alex saw him just the same as he always did, or whether any feelings he had for Michael might’ve changed now that he was no longer that lanky, young, rich boy he had first met.

_But no_ , he realized… there was something different this time. Alex was troubled; his eyes that usually carried such warmth were filled with torture; he stood straight, as if on high alert for any sudden attack; the knit of his brows and his frown implied a heavy exhaustion that he was too afraid to let go of.

“I heard you,” he said. _He’d been crying_ , Michael realized, and he briefly wondered for how long. Alex’s frown deepened, his brows furrowed. “I heard you tonight, and yesterday, and the day before… it’s never stopped. Why has it never stopped?”

Michael hadn’t thought he would be able to speak. And yet…

“Why now?” he asked instead of answering. “Why have you returned now?” He _had_ to ask. There were nights that Michael had begged the moon and the stars to return Alex to him, and now… 

“What has happened?”

Alex looked momentarily surprised at the question, but then his shoulders fell. He looked like he was going to fall. “The greatest threat my world has ever known… it was over… we have fought so long—”

“War?” Michael asked, taking one step closer to him. “You don’t mean to say… you’ve been at war? All this time?”

Alex nodded. “We thought we’d won… but at what price? Maria… she’s…”

Michael remembered Maria; the scary woman with the scar across her eye. Michael remembered meeting her that first night he’d also met Alex. She had cared for Alex, taken care of him. Michael had been wary of her, but Alex had seemed to adore her. Alex didn’t need to finish for Michael to understand that whatever threat they had faced, whatever war they had fought, it had taken the life of someone very dear to him.

“Let me hold you,” Michael said. “I do not know what troubles you’ve faced, what you have seen or fought… but let me hold you, my dear Alex – if it is the only comfort I can give you.”

Alex looked at him a moment. A tear ran down his cheek just as a sob escaped his lips, and Michael, unable to contain himself, rushed forward and pulled him close to his chest. Alex broke down in his arms, holding Michael as if afraid that he would fall apart if he let go. Michael’s grip on him tightened, his jaw clenched. The rest of the world faded away, and Michael could no longer hear the wind, or the branches, or his friends.

It was only Alex and his cries, and it broke his heart.

Michael would never find out exactly what had happened, nor would he ever know of the threat that had Alex and his world fighting for so long, for it was so horrible that the sorcerer could never bring himself to speak of it.

But it was this moment that Michael and Alex realized they needed each other. It was this moment that changed their lives forever.

Chapter Five. 1767

Michael had not lost his four-year-old daughter. He had simply _misplaced_ her. After discovering she had wandered off while he wasn’t paying attention, his thoughts immediately turned to the worst-cases, and he ran through the forest behind their cottage home in a silent sheer panic, calling out her name in shouted whispers.

He had managed to quickly find her, however, crawling into the hollow of a tree, calling for invisible creatures that weren’t there. Or maybe they _had been_ there, and Michael would just never know because he, unlike his twins and husband, did not have a single drop of magic in his blood.

“There you are, Elizabeth!” he scooped his daughter into his arms. “Thank God,” he panted into her hair. If Alex had found out…

“People,” Elizabeth said, pointing at the hollow of the tree. “People there!”

“People?” Michael’s eyes narrowed at the tree. Could Elizabeth have been able to open a portal?

_No_ , he shook his head, a curl that had gone stray from its knot falling over his eyes. _It was impossible._ She may have been a witch, as her twin sister was, but she was too young, and it didn’t look like she had a cut anywhere on her hands. It would take a tremendous amount of energy from her to be able to open a portal; Alex, as well as Isobel – Alex’s close sorceress friend who had been kind of enough to be a surrogate – had assured him of that many times. Still, he thought, maybe he should tell Alex. It wouldn’t hurt to have his husband’s reassurance again on the matter.

“There are no people, darling,” he said. “No one here but you and me.”

Elizabeth’s big blue eyes looked between her father and the tree, and she pulled on a strand of her blonde hair. She didn’t look like she believed him, but her insistence ceased.

“Come on,” he set her on the ground, taking her hand in his. “Let’s go eat now. Uh, darling,” he added with a nervous smile, “would you mind horribly not telling your papa that you went off alone?”

When Michael and Elizabeth returned to the cottage, Alex and Elizabeth’s twin sister, Maria, were both setting up the table for dinner. Maria had Alex’s dark brown hair, and Isobel’s blue eyes. She and Alex were both laughing about something when Alex glanced over and saw the look on Michael’s face. He must’ve looked more concerned than he thought because Alex’s laughter died down almost instantly. Alex had Maria finish placing the spoons next to each plate while he came over to Michael.

“Did you enjoy your walk, sweetheart?” he asked Elizabeth, kissing her head softly.

“I saw people!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Little people!”

Alex’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at Michael who told Elizabeth to go help her sister. When she was out of earshot, Michael told Alex that Elizabeth claimed to see people in the hollow of a tree in the woods, conveniently forgetting to mention that Michael was not with her when she did.

Alex listened, then smiled, seemingly not concerned. “It’s alright, Michael – she must’ve simply seen a portal in use. Whoever conjured it must either be miles from here by now or in the other world.”

Michael nodded, relieved. “It is good to hear you say that.”

Alex chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Not to worry, my love. We are far away from any danger, I assure you.”

Michael smiled, though he could not wholeheartedly agree with his husband. Once a year, Alex took Maria and Elizabeth through the portal to the immortal world, to have them acquainted with it and portal travel.

“You chose to stay in the mortal world,” Michael had said once in defense of this decision. “Where our children stay in the future, whether in the mortal or immortal world – should that not be their choice?”

Alex, who had lost his dearest friend, Maria DeLuca, in an immortal war, hesitated to bring his children to that world. And yet, he seemed to realize that, as Children of Auria, the immortal world was bound to find them, and so he agreed.

Since then, however, it has seemed that Michael was the one who feared the immortal world’s presence more than Alex did. He supposed it should be a form of comfort. After all, if any of these signs meant that something horrible was to happen, Alex would tell him, wouldn’t he?

There was a sudden yelp, and both Michael and Alex turned their heads to see the wooden spoons and bowls dancing around the table. Maria was watching the spoons with wide eyes while Elizabeth hesitantly poked the bowls as they passed her, though she seemed less excited than Maria.

“Papa! The spoons are dancing!” Maria said, his face in awe.

Michael suspected it was Maria who had caused the magic, as she was responsible for most forms of magic that happened in the house, but he was not worried for his daughter’s wellbeing. Last year, when Maria had accidentally made their freshly picked pears grow three times their size, Michael had asked Alex why she didn’t look as exhausted as Alex usually did when using _his_ magic.

Alex explained that accidental magic was tiring – which explained why Maria felt the need to take a three-hour nap immediately afterwards – but it was intentional magic that needed training. Michael tried not to think of his children’s imminent training too much as the idea concerned him more than anything else.

“Alright, don’t move,” Alex said with a sigh. “I’ll stop it.”

But Maria and Elizabeth didn’t want it to stop, already dancing along to the spoons and plates. Alex looked exasperated, but Michael, who thought the entire scene looked rather funny, laughed.

*

As they strolled through the marketplace, Elizabeth and Maria both pointed at colorful flowers and candies that were out on display. Alex tried not to think too much of the looks he and his family received by some of the villagers. Michael had asked to stay in Greenwich as he had formed great friendships and opportunities here, and Alex didn’t want to see him have to start over in another town, so he agreed. 

However, it wasn’t long before news of Michael Guerin’s relatively _young_ and mysterious lover crossed over from London, and after having kept an eye on Alex, people soon discovered what he was.

What had once been a warm and welcoming reception had turned into a cold and distant one. Half the people of Greenwich regarded Alex with anger or fear, the other, not wanting to associate themselves with a sorcerer, ignored him completely.

Alex saw Michael glance at him, as he always did when he himself began to notice the looks people were giving them, and Alex smiled fondly at him. What did it matter what all these people thought? The only people whose opinions mattered – those of his husband and his two children – thought the world of him. That was the most important thing.

“Alex!” they heard a woman’s voice call, and saw Miss Evangeline, probably one of the last few villagers in Greenwich who still liked Alex, waving them over to her stand of flower vases.

Alex adored Miss Evangeline. She was a large old woman who preferred color and creativity in her work to extravagance. She even filled each vase with flowers she had grown in her own garden. Alex knew this because, more than once, he and his children had been invited over to her home for tea and pastries, and Alex had offered to help Miss Evangeline with her plants.

By accident, Alex had made the plants grow three times their regular size, and instead of being horrified or upset with him, Miss Evangeline had hugged him and kissed both his cheeks, giving Maria and Elizabeth homemade biscuits to take home with them. Alex had been very fond of the old woman since then.

“Look at these, will you?” Miss Evangeline said proudly about the roses she had growing out of one particularly big vase that looked like it had large blue, purple, and pink lady bugs scattered across an array of colorful stars. “Tended to them just like you told me, and they’ve absolutely _flourished_!”

“Good morning to you, too, Miss Evangeline,” Michael laughed.

“Good morning, dear,” Miss Evangeline said, and patted both Maria’s and Elizabeth’s heads. “And good morning to you, little ones!”

“Look at the bugs!” Maria pointed at the painted ladybugs, smiling widely. “So many of them!”

“That’s right,” Miss Evangeline said. “Aren’t they beautiful? Oh – Michael, before I forget, my son wanted me to pass on a message to you, something about a shed he wanted built.”

“This should be good,” Alex heard him mutter under his breath, and he turned his face into Michael’s arm, hiding his smile.

“Papa, look! There’s a dog there!” Elizabeth exclaimed before her hand left Alex’s and she went running up the road in search for the animal.

“What – Elizabeth!” Alex said a quick _‘Be right back’_ before he went after his daughter.

Alex lost sight of Elizabeth in the large crowd of people for a good minute before he heard a collective of gasps. He felt his heart jump up in his throat. He pushed himself past the people and found Elizabeth petting the dog fondly. Surrounding her was the crowd of marketgoers who had stopped to watch the young witch.

Alex swallowed. None of them looked too fond to see the child enjoy herself amongst them.

He took a deep breath and strengthened his resolve. His daughter was doing nothing wrong. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to play as she wanted? After all, the dog certainly seemed to be pleased to have someone’s attention.

Alex crouched beside Elizabeth and smiled, trying hard not to catch anyone’s eyes. The last thing he needed was to have Elizabeth subjected to any senseless prejudice. At the very least, not now.

“You shouldn’t have run off like that,” Alex said, petting the dog’s head. “It was a bad thing to do, Elizabeth.”

“The dog,” Elizabeth defended herself. “I told her to stop! But she-she kept… she didn’t listen! S’not my fault!”

“I see,” Alex hummed, then his brows furrowed. “How d’you know it’s a _she_?”

Elizabeth said quite casually, “She told me.”

Alex’s hand on the dog’s head stopped. So _this_ was one of Elizabeth’s new abilities; speaking to animals. Alex was jealous. There were many witches and wizards that could speak to animals, and unfortunately, he was one of the few that had never inherited the ability. Still, he was glad that even with her young age, Elizabeth had some of the most common magical powers. He made a mental note to ask Elizabeth later tonight how recently she’d been hearing animals speak.

“‘Ey, you,” a gruffy voice said. It belonged to Mr. Huxley – an old, short grocer with a permanent scowl, and thick gray eyebrows that always made him look angry. Alex half-suspected he always _was_. He was also one of the people in the village that openly hated Alex and his children, though Alex had always been careful to keep them away from him.

“Get away from my produce,” he spat. “You’re scaring me customers away.”

“Right,” Alex said, and moved to stand in front of Elizabeth, taking her hand. “Sorry, Mr. Huxley. We’ll just go.”

“But I wanna play with the dog!” Elizabeth cried.

Mr. Huxley only now seemed to recognize the dog. He turned an ugly shade of red as he yanked it harshly away from Alex and Elizabeth by the fur of its neck. “What’d you do to it, eh?” he growled at Elizabeth. “What’d you do, you little beast?!”

“Nothing,” Alex said, anger rising in his chest. Elizabeth cowered behind him. “She was only petting her, that’s all.”

“ _Pettin’ it_ ,” he seemed disgusted by the idea. He grabbed his dog’s face in his stubby hands, examining it. “You did somethin’, didn’t you? _Bewitched_ it, didn’t you?!”

“Enough,” Alex said, fed up. “I will ask you not to speak to my daughter like that.”

Mr. Huxley raised a brow at him and released the dog, rising to his eyelevel. Alex saw his jaw clench. “What’s that now? You darin’ to talk back to me? EH?! You evil BASTARD?!”

And suddenly, catching Alex completely off guard, Mr. Huxley actually pushed him hard in the chest, sending him to the ground. The crowd murmured and gasped at once, but nobody moved.

Elizabeth yelled and kneeled by her father’s side. Alex glared at Mr. Huxley, willing the sting behind his eyes away. That people could be so bitter – it was revolting. He huffed and sat up, wiping at the damp mud on his arms.

“There now, you’ve made your point,” Alex said. “Return to your own business, and we’ll return to ours.”

But this angered Mr. Huxley more. Pushing Alex must’ve taken all his strength because he was panting heavily, his face turned to purple, or maybe that was because he was angry at having his pride wounded in front of so many people.

“Who d’you think you are, eh? You evil witches come into _our_ town, kill _our_ people—”

“I have never harmed any of you!” Alex snapped back. Then glared at the crowd around him, and repeated, “ _Any of you_!”

Most of the people in the crowd looked away, ashamed, but still, no one said anything to Mr. Huxley.

“Me wife! Only last year! One of _your_ kind killed her! And for what? I’ll never know…” Mr. Huxley said, and suddenly, Alex saw something besides anger in his dark eyes.

“I… am sorry,” Alex said. “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Huxley, truly. But just as your kind are not all cold-blooded murderers, neither are mine.”

“Really?” Mr. Huxley said darkly, the open secret behind his eyes gone, and once again masked with sheer anger as he turned them on Elizabeth. “Can you say the same for her? Can you say she is not a cold-blooded murderer?”

Alex gaped. “She’s a _child_! Listen to yourself!”

“Exactly!” Mr. Huxley said, pointing an accusing finger at Elizabeth who gripped her father’s shirt tightly, her tear-streaked face hidden behind Alex’s shoulder.

“What’ll happen when that _thing_ grows up? What if she learns the same dark magic the rest of your kind seem to have? What then, eh?”

Alex shook his head. “You’re mad. And I pity you.”

“I’m not the one who’s not human!”

“Because humans are such a noble race?” he laughed incredulously. “At least my kind are loyal to one another! We stand together, no matter the trouble, which is a lot more than I can say for most of _you_!” he faced the crowd, and they turned silent, stepping further away.

Alex stood, carrying his daughter in his arms. Elizabeth buried her face in her father’s neck, her arms wrapped around him tightly.

“Thank God for the few of you who seem to know what it is to be kind and good,” he said. “Despite your combined hatred and cowardice – they outshine you all.”

The crowd wordlessly parted for Alex as he carried Elizabeth back to Michael’s side. When he saw him covered in mud and Elizabeth’s tears, he frowned, his brows furrowed, his eyes wide. Alex merely said he would tell him later, and used his free hand to hold Michael’s. 

Michael was shocked to feel him trembling.

*

Michael slammed his fists on the dining table. Elizabeth had been quiet throughout dinner, despite Maria’s attempts to get her attention, and before her plate was cleared, she had fallen asleep. Her sister followed closely after, and it was only after they were both secure in their beds that Alex finally told Michael everything that had happened.

“That swine,” Michael spat. “How _dare_ he.”

“A witch had killed his wife, Michael,” Alex said patiently. He was no longer shaking, no longer angry or scared. This seemed to infuriate Michael even more. 

“He _shoved_ you! He called Elizabeth a beast!” Michael shook his head. “No, I’m going to speak to him first thing tomorrow morning – make him pay. In fact, forget tomorrow – I’ll go right now.”

“Michael, stop, I handled it,” Alex said, following him. “The village already has an unpleasant image of me; do you want to go confirm it?”

“Why aren’t you angrier about this?” he said. “Better yet, why didn’t you use your magic against him? You know you could’ve shut him right up with one flick of your wrist!”

“Don’t say things like that,” he said. “As if there could ever be an excuse to use my magic against a defenseless old man!”

“ _Defenseless_!” Michael groaned. “Defenseless, he says!”

“Keep your voice down,” Alex said through grit teeth. “You’ll wake the children.”

“Maybe I should! Maybe they’ll use some of their magic where it is due!”

“ _Where it is due?_ Do you honestly think magic is some sort of weapon to use against everyone who throws a bad word at us? There’s a reason we live so long – we must, if we are to gain patience, and I’ve lived long enough to know when to keep my mouth shut!”

“You mean allow yourself to be trampled on!”

Alex stared. Michael could tell he was trying very hard to assert some of that patience he valued so much. “The fact that you still cannot tell the difference between the two only reveals your immaturity.” He sighed, exasperated. “After all this time, you are still such a _child_!”

“Don’t do that,” he pointed at Alex, his jaw clenched to will away the blush in his cheeks. “Don’t turn it on our age difference just because you regret not punishing the man who insulted our daughter.”

“Oh, and do you propose I go around the village, killing whoever gives us a funny look?”

“Why not?” Michael snapped. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

As soon as the words left his lips, Michael wished he could take them back. Alex’s face fell, the shock and disappointment in his eyes evident.

Alex didn’t speak for a moment, looking to the ground, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. Michael’s heart sank, however, when he saw a single tear roll down his cheek.

“N-No… Alex, I’m sorry,” Michael tried taking a step towards him, but Alex stepped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Michael reached out for him, but Alex slapped his hand away, his eyes darker than Michael had ever thought possible. “What my people suffered… what we fought… you will _never_ understand. Not that it makes any difference now, but no, I’ve never killed anyone. My duty in the Great Fire War was to protect and defend. I created shields over the town, keep the innocents safe.”

Alex glared. “But my friends… my _family_ … Maria… what they had to do – I will not allow you or anyone to degrade it to senseless murder. They saved the world, and your kind will never know what they had to sacrifice to do it.”

“Alex,” he whispered, trying to reach for him again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I was just angry, I –”

“I need some fresh air,” he said shortly, wiping another tear from his cheek, and walked past Michael out the front door into the night.

*

Alex had called Michael a child, but he was the one who felt immature; storming out like that. He was now sitting against a large hollow tree in the forest surrounding his home, his knees pulled up to his chest. He buried his face in between them, and sighed.

“Every time,” he muttered to no one in particular. Every time that war was brought up, he lost all rationality. But at the same time, it couldn’t be helped. He was right in saying Michael would never know what it was like, and he hoped that would always be the case.

Not for the first time, Alex found himself thinking of Maria, and as he did, he felt a warmth against his back. He noticed the golden light almost immediately and gasped before stepping away from the hollow tree. A portal was in use, and he wanted to give whoever was coming through enough room to pass over safely.

The hollow of the tree grew cracks of light, spreading and growing. There was a flash, and out jumped a tall woman in a deep-green dress and cloak. She landed gracefully on the grass in front of Alex, and tilted her head at him.

Her big brown eyes, bushy brown hair, and small, elvish face were all very familiar. Then Alex’s own eyes widened. “Mimi? Mimi Everdale!”

“Yes, I thought I heard you calling,” Mimi said happily, clapping her hands together. “Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner; the elves and mercreatures were arguing again – something about a treaty and territory and some other big _T_ thing. You don’t happen to remember the exact conditions of the Leaf and Mist Treaty of 1322, do you?”

“No, sorry,” Alex said. “I’m not _that_ old.”

“Mm,” Mimi hummed and gestured Alex to retake his seat against the tree. She sat beside him. “But you are old – that, you cannot deny. Is that what troubles you? Your age?”

“To be honest, Mimi, I don’t really understand why you’re here. I wasn’t particularly asking for you, or _anyone_ , for that matter.”

Alex saw something in Mimi’s eyes flicker. Mimi nodded. “You must’ve been thinking of Maria, then.” She sighed with the weight of someone who had seen far too much. “Even after her death, we are still bound.”

Alex wanted to cry again, but he refrained. He covered Mimi’s hand with his own. “I’m glad you’re here anyway.”

Mimi smiled. “It is good to see you, too, my dear. Now, tell me of this concern of yours.”

Alex raised a brow. “You’ve come to the mortal world simply to hear my concerns?”

The elf smiled. “ _Life is too long to never have a problem._ ”

“Maria’s words,” Alex said softly, then rubbed the sting from his eyes. After a moment, he sighed. “Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long.”

Mimi scoffed. “We all feel that way. Because it’s true.”

Alex shook his head. “I’ve seen too much, done too much. And yet, despite the centuries, all I can remember is the bad and horrifying. I don’t want to live long enough to see the next Great War, Mimi. I want to grow old with my husband, I want every second to count.”

“It doesn’t count now?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Is your husband not mortal? Is your time with him not already precious?”

“You think my fears for the future are unreasonable?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It is a rare case, yours. A Child of Auria and a mortal… perhaps it will inspire future relations with the mortal world, but for now…” Mimi sighed. “I sense a storm coming, Alex. It is a long way away, but it is coming. My suggestion to you now is this; cherish the time you have. For someday, it will be your source of strength; make it as strong as possible while you can.”

Alex considered this, but before he could answer—

“Alex!”

It was Michael. He had come looking for him. Mimi stood and patted his head. “Maria adored you very much, Alex. It was her wish that I look after you. But I ask that you forgive me, for I will leave that task in the hands of your husband. At least, for now.”

Alex smiled despite the lump in his throat. He hesitated, then, “This storm you sense… are my children a part of it? Will they suffer the next war?”

Mimi seemed to think about it, then she smiled softly and said, “I am no Seer, Alex. As an elf, what I use is instincts. I would rather not answer with that as my only evidence.”

Alex swallowed and nodded. _All the better_ , he supposed. He didn’t really think he wanted to hear the answer anyway. Not now.

He blinked and Mimi was gone. Almost right away, Michael emerged from behind the trees, his expression one of concern. He was carrying a blanket.

When he saw Alex, his shoulders fell, and he sighed heavily. “I called for you.”

“Sorry,” was all Alex could say.

“I should be the one to apologize,” Michael said. He placed the blanket around Alex’s shoulders, muttering about how cold it was.

He sat down beside him, and there was a moment of silence before they both spoke again, at the same time.

“I didn’t mean what I said—”

“I shouldn’t have run off—”

They both stopped and stared, then chuckled. Alex made a gesture with his hand, as if telling Michael to go first.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Alex. I hate the thought of anyone hurting you, and I was just… angry with myself for not being there to defend you.”

“It is not your duty to defend me,” Alex said. “That is not why I fell in love with you.”

“But it _is_ my duty, Alex,” Michael said this as if he was surprised Alex didn’t already know. “I am your husband. I _love_ you, and I know that one day,” he paused, “I know that one day, I will no longer have the strength to protect you. I must do it while I can.”

Alex stared. “So you fear the future as well.”

“Of course I do,” Michael said. “You’ll remain young and powerful for years to come, while I… what am I compared to your kind? Compared to our children? I’m nothing. A fragile, weak human – _nothing_.”

“My darling Michael, you are _everything_ ,” Alex took Michael’s hand in his, kissing it. “You are my life, and I… I shouldn’t have called you a child. It was wrong of me, and I am sorry. I know that my immortality concerns you, and I-I shouldn’t have…”

Michael placed a finger to Alex’s lips before leaning down and kissing him. Almost at once, the weeds and flowers around them grew, emitting a soft colorful light. The trees grew thicker and moonlight seemed to focus on them, bright and warm.

Michael smiled as he pulled back, shaking his head. “I love it when you do that.”

Chapter Six. 1782

Michael paced the outside of his and Alex’s bedroom for what felt like hours. More than once, he went to open the door, but was unable to and continued his pacing.

Finally, he spotted his children peeking at him from behind a wall, and he stopped.

“Alright, you two, come here,” he said. The girls hesitated before they stepped out. Maria and Elizabeth were nineteen now. Alex had said that Maria looked very similar to Isobel when she was that young, despite their daughter having darker hair. Elizabeth, however, looked like an exact copy of her biological mother.

Michael knelt as they came closer, his arms outstretched to them both, and they walked into his embrace.

“Papa’s really sad,” Elizabeth said, her voice cracking. “He won’t stop crying.”

“Yes,” Michael agreed quietly. “He is very sad.”

“Can’t I go with you, father?” Maria suggested, once again. “I have magic – I can be of help!”

“Yes, me, too!” Elizabeth said. “I can help as well!” She glanced at her sister and blushed. “I-I know I’m not as powerful as Maria, but I can still be useful!”

Michael shook his head. “Absolutely not. Neither of you are trained in your magic. If you try to fight… I fear what the strain might do to you.”

“The _strain_?” Maria said, and stepped out of her father’s hold. “You’re going off to war! What’s a little strain?”

“Maria—”

“I would happily die if it meant saving you!”

“And what of your father?” he said. “His magic’s just as exhaustive as yours.” Michael stood and put his hands on Maria’s shoulders. “He has already suffered one war. I cannot protect him from this one, but I – _we_ – can assure that he is not left alone to fight.”

“But _you_ will be left alone,” Elizabeth cried, holding onto his arm.

Michael smiled. “I am never alone, my darling. Your father is with me, always.”

Speaking to his children gave Michael enough courage to step into his bedroom where he found his husband lying in bed, his back turned to him.

He sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, but if Alex sensed him there, he did not acknowledge him.

“I know you’re awake,” he finally said. Alex did not respond. “Please look at me.”

Alex turned his face into the pillow and sniffled. He was crying.

“Alex, I have no choice,” Michael said desperately. “I am a soldier; if my king requires me to fight, I must fight.”

Alex sat up and turned to him, furious. “And what value is my word as your husband? What must you do if I beg you to stay?”

“Alex…”

“My magic can conceal you,” he said, wiping the tears with his forearms. “I-I can keep you safe and protected here for the entirety of the war – you needn’t fight at all!”

“I will not hide like a coward while my brothers risk their lives,” Michael said calmly.

“I need you here,” he cried, his head ducked. “ _I_ need you, Michael.”

“Do you honestly believe I want to be apart from you?” Michael held Alex’s face in his hands, wiping his tears with his thumbs as his own tears formed.

Alex couldn’t answer. He pulled Michael’s hands down and turned away from him, leaving him with a heavy weight in his chest. The absolute worst thing Michael could think of in that moment was not dying, but leaving tomorrow morning without Alex’s goodbye.

He was about to try calming Alex down again when he felt a tug on his arm. Alex had taken his hand before lying back down on the bed, pulling Michael down behind him.

Michael’s chest was against Alex’s back, and he could feel the sorcerer shaking. Michael’s hand unconsciously tightened on his husband’s.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice strained. “Just for now, stay with me.”

Michael felt unable to speak. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Alex’s waist, pulling him unbearably close to him. He buried his face in Alex’s shoulder, and despite the hours that passed, he lay awake. Alex must’ve sensed the chill in his bones, because Michael felt a sudden warmth surge through him, and fell asleep.

Chapter Seven. 1797

Alex stood on the outskirts of town, alongside several of the townspeople who could not go off to war (women, children, and _Witchlings_ whose power was better spent protecting the kingdom and its people); who were all waiting desperately to see their husbands and sons return.

He gripped his daughter Maria’s shirt, and she tightened her hold on him as they stared off into the distance with bated breath. Maria and Elizabeth had stopped aging years ago – Alex guessed it was around their nineteenth birthday. Elizabeth stood on Alex’s other side, holding his hand.

The three of them, more so than almost anyone else waiting with them, were covered in bruises and cuts, having exhausted their magic to defend the village. They had been almost solely responsible for keeping the kingdom standing, but Alex worried what that meant for his husband, for his magic was not unlimited in its usage, and he couldn’t very well extend it to a distance when he was so focused on the task in front of him.

Still, he tried to stay focused on the incoming sound of horse hooves, treading up the trail, carrying the soldiers that had been due back hours ago.

“He’ll come,” he said, if only to himself. “He will.”

Elizabeth brought her arm around her father’s waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Alex could hear her crying, but he kept telling her not to be afraid, for her father was definitely going to return. Any second now…

But no one did. The sun started to set, and slowly by slowly, the group of survivors waiting began to dissipate. There was only a handful of people left, including Alex and his children.

Maria pressed her face into her father’s chest. She was starting to cry, too.

“Don’t worry, my darlings,” he said, pressing a hard and desperate kiss to his children’s temples. He could feel his own eyes sting, but he harshly wiped at them. He would not cry. Michael was not dead. “He’s coming, you’ll see now.”

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Max, a mortal friend of his, too ill to go into battle himself. He had tears in his eyes as well.

“Alex, you’re tired. You three need to rest.”

But Alex couldn’t hear him. He shook Max’s hand off, and tightened his grip on Maria and Elizabeth. “I will rest when he returns.”

_Please return_ , he begged silently as he stared hard into the horizon. The hill remained empty. He closed his eyes tightly. He would _not_ cry. 

_Please come back, Michael. Come back to me._

Max shook his head, his hope lost, but before he could respond, Alex heard it. The sound of rustling chains, swinging swords, and horses.

His heart jumped into his throat at first sight of the king as he led his surviving soldiers over the hill, and his eyes immediately searched for his husband.

Alex heard a loud “They’ve come!” somewhere behind him just as his eyes found a familiar pair in the crowd.

“Father!” Elizabeth cried out, and ran ahead with Maria who looked too overwhelmed to speak. Michael looked exhausted, covered in scratches and blood stains, his hair curled and falling to his shoulders, but his face turned to one of joy at the sight of his children.

He slid off his horse just as Maria and Elizabeth tackled him. He staggered, but laughed as he held them both closely, kissing their heads several times. All the other soldiers collided with their loved ones, and somehow, Michael found Alex in the chaos immediately, his eyes filled with tears.

A sob he didn’t know he was holding escaped his lips, and Alex dashed toward him, jumping into his arms. Michael lifted him off the ground, his face buried in Alex’s neck, Alex’s face buried in Michael’s shoulder. They held each other so tightly that neither of them could breathe, but they didn’t care.

As they cried in each other’s embrace, Michael repeated, “I heard you. I heard you.”

Chapter Eight. 1822

Michael woke from what felt like his fifth nap that day. It was getting harder and harder to open his eyes as of late. He saw Alex, the same as he had looked that day seventy-four years ago, and he smiled. Alex was watching him silently, his chin resting on his hands. Michael was seated on a large chair outside the cottage, and Alex sat beside him on the ground, looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Michael wished he had the strength to tell Alex how much he loved him, but he worried that if he started, he would never be able to stop. He worried that he would never find the proper words, and his last few moments would be wasted. _It was alright_ , he thought. Alex knew, didn’t he? The way his cheeks turned red when Michael looked at him, the way Alex smiled when Michael touched him, and how Alex laughed when Michael spoke to him… _of course he knew_.

Michael sighed heavily. He wanted to see his children’s faces once more, but he and Alex had already given their heartfelt goodbyes twenty-five years ago, after the war had ended. Maria and Elizabeth both had witch blood, and, according to Alex and Mimi, it was time they both trained to use their magic. It hurt that where his daughters went, Michael could not follow. Only Alex occasionally checked in on them, as only he was allowed.

“They are working hard,” he had said the last time he’d gone to see them four months ago, “but they are happy. I think Elizabeth’s even met someone.”

Michael chuckled soundlessly when he thought about it now. He remembered the way Alex had gone and come back in under an hour; the way his ability to breathe at all weakened at his husband’s disappearance, and how he regained strength when Alex had returned; the way Alex sighed with relief upon seeing Michael, happy he had not vanished.

Michael had a very high suspicion that it was Alex’s magic that had kept him going this long. It would explain why Alex himself seemed exhausted all the time as well. Michael was unable to move his hands anymore, and could not feel Alex’s touch, either. He wondered when Alex would stop exerting himself; he wanted to tell him to please stop this, to let go… but what difference would it make now? He knew very well his time was over, and no amount of magic could stop that.

“M’sorry for falling asleep,” he said hoarsely, his words hardly coming out in huffed whispers.

He was surprised Alex could hear him at all, but the sorcerer swallowed and smiled. “It’s alright, my darling.”

Michael’s heart sank at the sight of the sorrow in Alex’s eyes. _It seems he knows the end is coming as well._

Alex stood, kissed his cheek, and moved behind him to wrap his arms around his shoulders. He sighed into Michael’s shirt, and Michael felt the ache in his chest grow. He couldn’t feel Alex’s breath anymore either. He couldn’t feel anything.

His eyes scanned the fruit trees of their gardens, and the corner of his lips quirked up. “Beautiful thing – sunlight,” he said, though he knew there was something wrong. His surroundings were blurry, faded into a white light that he couldn’t understand.

But if Alex sensed his secret, he did not comment.

“Yes, it is,” he said.

Michael stared harder at the trees. They were fading as well.

“Alex, would you pick me out a few apples?” he asked. “How lovely it would be… to have fruit by your hand, no magic.”

Alex perked up. “Y-Yes. Yes, of course!” He grabbed his basket off the ground beside the door and walked away a few steps before he stopped and turned back to Michael. “Come with me. I’ll help you walk.”

Michael smiled at him. “No, no, love. I will wait here. Watching you in the gardens… it has always been my favorite sight.”

Alex stared a moment, then smiled himself, though Michael did not fail to notice his lower lip quiver. Even when the world was disappearing, he could still see Alex so clearly. This was what true love was, he supposed.

Alex leaned down and kissed him softly before he said, “I will bring you back the biggest, most delicious apples you’ve ever had – you’ll be so happy!”

And with that, he turned and hurried to the trees, and Michael’s smile turned small.

“To the stars… though you hide in the day… I hope you are listening,” he softly pleaded, “I beg of you… help him to smile again. Let his love never fade. He… is the brightest among you… and I love him… and it is all I ask.”

Michael watched Alex reach high into the branches, his dark brown hair turning to the color of honey against the sunlight, his eyes shimmering even from this distance, and he couldn’t help but think that Alex looked like an angel. He suddenly remembered that day, too many years ago, when he had walked into the garden of the Prissley manor, and heard Alex singing. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard…

He smiled, and the last thought he had before his world turned to stars was that it would have been wonderful to hear Alex sing in his gardens just once more.

“I promise you a great feast tonight, my darling!”

Alex returned running, his basket filled with big apples. He had worked as fast as he could, and as soon as the basket had filled, he smiled, eager to see Michael’s face when he saw the big red jewels.

“Sleeping again?” Alex laughed breathlessly as he approached Michael, but he did not move or respond.

Alex stared, then his steps slowed down to a stop a few feet away from his husband.

“Michael,” he said, though he could already feel a heavy weight on his chest pulling him down like an anchor. “Michael…”

But Michael did not wake up. Then, Alex took one step closer, and he felt it. The bond that connected them, the bond he had created for Michael so many years ago, when he was still so young, the one that had meant to shield him – Alex couldn’t feel it anymore. He felt the basket slip from his fingers, and the big apples rolled onto the grass around him.

Alex fell to his knees at Michael’s feet, unaware of the tears forming in his eyes until he felt them fall down his face, though he did not cry out. He didn’t think he could.

He covered Michael’s hands with his own, and rested his forehead against them.

“It’s alright, Michael. Keep sleeping,” he whispered through his tears. “I’m right here beside you. I won’t leave you.” Alex stayed there until the flowers grew to five times their size, curling around his body, comforting him, and for a moment, he could close his eyes, and pretend it was Michael’s touch, guarding him as he slept.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Ess Cee:  
> [tumblr](https://insidious-intent.tumblr.com/)  
> [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsidiousIntent/pseuds/InsidiousIntent)
> 
> Rin (aka me):  
> [tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


End file.
